


The Devil Go With All

by KHansen



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Age Curse, Age Regression/De-Aging, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, De-Aged Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Good Parent Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, No Beta, No Non-Con Between Main Characters, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Past Torture, Post-Canon, Post-Canon of S1 of Netflix Show, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:47:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 57,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23970286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KHansen/pseuds/KHansen
Summary: The sorceress levels him with a stern look that he returns defiantly, keeping his chin raised and his eyes trained on hers. It hits her then, who this child reminds her so thoroughly of, and she feels a wave of exasperation followed by giddy glee at the fate that befell the bard before her. If her hunch is correct, then the child is none other than the Master Bard Jaskier.When Yennefer comes across a seven-year-old Jaskier, filthy and starving in the woods, she takes him back to Kaer Morhen to help him recover and also figure out who cursed the bard and how to fix it before it's too late and he's stuck reliving his entire life.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion (implied), Jaskier | Dandelion & Lambert, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 358
Kudos: 2593
Collections: Geralt is Sorry





	1. The Boy in the Woods

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Adventures In Parenting](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23952505) by [Random_Nerd3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_Nerd3/pseuds/Random_Nerd3). 
  * Inspired by [all some children do is work](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23619517) by [some_stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/some_stars/pseuds/some_stars). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please heed the tags!

It’s a dreary day in a dreadful town that’s tucked away in a derelict part of Temeria when a powerful sorceress with violet eyes steps through a portal just outside the town borders. She’s not sure what brings her here, or really even where _here_ is, but there was a spike in the chaos that surrounds her and binds her to the earth two weeks ago and she decided to follow it when she finally had the time. A cold drizzle falls from a slate gray sky, dampening the dirt road into a mud and slush that would be difficult to traverse by horse or wagon. This road reeks of shit and the nearby scents of civilization, the sorceress’s nose wrinkling in distaste as she looks around at the scraggly trees that make up the thin forest around her, the soil bare and lacking in enough nutrients to sustain enough foliage to grow much more than weeds and spindly branches. 

Yennefer takes a breath, wincing again at the foul smells around her, and lets her chaos wander across the land. She left the warm and dry halls of Kaer Morhen where she was training her magical protege for this, so it better be something good. She feels the lives of the inhabitants of the town, huddled in their homes and the tavern against the rain, and the beating hearts of the wildlife that exists in these woods, but there’s no signs of any unusual chaos. She’s about to let it go and return to the Witcher keep with an air of frustration at her wasted time when she senses it, just at the very edge of what she was feeling, a small human heartbeat in the middle of the woods and just the faintest lick of chaos accompanying it.

With her target in mind, Yennefer turns and sets off towards the singular human, her dark skirts sweeping over the mud and brush without snagging or dirtying like the world bends to her and jumps out of her way. The feeling of the chaos grows as she nears and she can hear a high voice singing amongst the trees, a thwacking sound accompanying the slightly off key warbling. Yennefer ensures that her approach is silent as she nears a small clearing with a stream crossing through the center of it. Sparse grasses fill the clearing and a few measly flowers struggle to grow along the water where small fish swim and provide just enough byproducts to feed some life. 

A young boy, maybe seven or eight, is crossing the stream over a felled log with a branch brandished in his hand, his arms outstretched to hold his balance as he sings a nursery rhyme to himself in the rain. His dark brown hair is wet and plastered to his forehead and his eyes downcast as he watches the placement of his bare feet on the rough bark of the log. He’s dressed in what could have been court finery for a noble child, but is now little more than filthy rags that hang loosely on the child’s emaciated skeleton. Yennefer tilts her head slightly as she watches the boy and the chaos surrounding him.

“ _Tom-a-lin and his wife and his wife’s mother, / they went over a bridge all three together. / The bridge was broken and they fell in; / ‘The devil go with all,’ said Tom-a-lin,_ ” the boy hops off of the log as he reaches the other side, watching the water splash up around his muddied ankles and jumping up and down in the puddle with glee as he repeats the nursery rhyme. He then jumps out of the puddle and looks at the branch in his hand for a moment before turning to a nearby tree and brandishing the stick menacingly.

“Begone with you, foul fiend!” He shouts and waves the branch at the tree, “I will beat you in battle, as my father did before me! Um…” he pauses and the stick lowers slightly as he thinks, “What’s the word… uh... “ he huffs in annoyance before shaking his head and bringing his weapon back up, “Give in to me or face a terrible fate!” The boy changes the pitch of his reedy voice to a lower one, tucking his chin to make his voice deeper, “Listen here, you little shit, quit shoveling it and get lost!” He raises his chin again and scowls at the tree, “You asked for it, arsehole!” Yennefer’s lips curl in amusement as the boy begins to whack the tree trunk with his branch, the child making sound effects of a great battle and clashing swords. He thrusts his branch forward and makes the tree gurgle in death before crowing victoriously and throwing his hands in the air, “The great Sir Julian has won, yet again! Ju-li-an! Ju-li-an! Ju-li-an!” 

He spins around as he pretends adoring fans are chanting his name and catches sight of Yennefer then, his bright blue eyes widening in startled surprise as he yelps and scurries away, ducking behind a boulder for coverage, “Who are you?” He demands, peering over the edge of the rock and brandishing his stick threateningly, “What do you want?”

She steps forward into the clearing and clasps her hands in front of her as she tries to smile at him reassuringly, “My name is Yennefer of Vengerburg, I just came to talk to you. Can I ask you a few questions?” Something about his blue eyes are oddly familiar but Yennefer can’t put her finger on what just yet.

His eyes narrow at her suspiciously before he nods, “I guess so, what kinda questions? I’m not gonna answer if I don’t wanna.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” she shakes her head, keeping her voice calm to try and soothe the ruffled feathers of the child, “Would you mind if I set up my tent so that we can be dry while we talk?” His eyes look her up and down, clearly searching for her traveling pack or where she would be carrying a tent on her person, and she smiles more, “I don’t carry a bag, child, I’m a sorceress.”

His head pops up in surprise, wide eyes staring at her, “Father says we’re not supposed to trust magic users.”

“That’s very wise of him,” she takes a step towards him but he doesn’t move further away, “All mages should have to earn your trust. Now, may I set up my tent in your camp?” The boy watches her as he thinks for a while before nodding and coming out from behind the boulder.

“I suppose that’s alright. Come on, it’s this way,” he waves for her to follow him and starts walking through the trees, deeper into the woods. Yennefer follows him with concealed curiosity and listens as he hums under his breath to himself as they travel, hitting the trunks of passing trees with his stick as children tend to do. He stops occasionally to crouch down and observe anything particularly interesting he sees and while the sorceress would ordinarily find this behavior extremely annoying in a man, it’s very entertaining in a child. It takes them half of an hour to reach another clearing, this one filled with signs of someone having lived here.

There’s a meager fire ring and pile of sticks beside it as well as some branches leaned against a large rock at the base of a pile of boulders to make a shelter. There’s some fish bones left here and there, picked clean of any possible meat, and translucent scales strewn across the damp ground. A small knife is stuck into the earth near the fire and there’s piles of random assortments of things strewn about, one of pieces of colorful glass, another of pebbles and stones. There’s a small pile of colorful fabrics that’s weighed down by a rock so the cloth doesn’t blow away and there are some vials tucked along the inside of the makeshift shelter that Yennefer instantly recognizes, the colorful potions extremely unsafe for human consumption. She frowns slightly and looks back at the boy who is silently staring up at her, the tip of his stick resting on the ground.

“Those potions, in your bed, have you drunk any?” Yennefer asks cautiously. 

His cheeks color and he crosses his arms over his chest defensively as he shakes his head, “No, but they’re mine, you can’t have them.”

“You can’t drink them, child, they’re not safe for humans.”

“I know that, you still can’t have them though.”

The sorceress levels him with a stern look that he returns defiantly, keeping his chin raised and his eyes trained on hers. It hits her then, who this child reminds her so thoroughly of, and she feels a wave of exasperation followed by giddy glee at the fate that befell the bard before her. If her hunch is correct, then the child is none other than the Master Bard Jaskier. Over the two years since they went on that fated dragon hunt, she and Jaskier had put aside their differences and become rather good friends, brought together by their mutual heartbreak and finding they had more in common than previously thought. It doesn’t mean that she doesn’t revel in his misfortunes from time to time still, especially when they’re as titillating as this.

“Alright,” she acquiesces and conjures a tent in an open space in the clearing, “I will not take your potions. May I ask how you acquired them, though?”

“I don’t wanna answer that,” he sniffs and turns his nose up haughtily. The effect is ruined by the amount of grime coating his small body and Yennefer fights the grin that threatens to take over.

“Then you don’t have to. Come, let us warm ourselves in my tent,” she turns and holds open the flap of her tent for him and he cautiously approaches, peering inside with surprise.

“It’s bigger on the inside!” He eagerly rushes in to investigate, his curiosity outweighing his caution as he roams around. Yennefer watches for a moment as he pokes through her cabinets and peers under the bed before she gathers some clean clothes for him, a simple chemise and pants as well as socks and boots, and sets them on the table beside the bowl of fruit.

“Would you like a bath, child?” She asks, drifting over to the tub in the corner and waving her hand so it fills with hot water.

He slinks over to watch and glances up at her, “You don’t have to call me that. My name is Julian.”

She raises her eyebrows and kneels down so she’s the same height as him, “Julian, huh?”

He nods and then gives her a courtly bow, simple and official and with none of the flourishes she got so used to Jaskier adding, “Julian Alfred Pankratz, son of the Viscount de Lettenhove.”

“And where are your parents, Julian?” Yennefer asks gently as he starts to unbutton his shirt. He shrugs his thin shoulders and makes a dismissive noise.

“I dunno, I haven’t seen them in a long time,” he takes his filthy shirt off and looks around before placing it on a chair nearby and removing his pants and small clothes, “I asked somebody how to get to Lettenhove and he asked me why I wanted to go and I said it’s cuz that’s where my mother and father are and I need to go home and he asked who my mother and father were and I told him the Viscount and he laughed and said that there is no more Viscount.” Julian speaks matter-of-factly as he gets into the bath, wincing at the heat but not complaining about it. 

Yennefer feels no small amount of distress at the way his spine juts out and his ribs ridge his torso as he bends over to dunk his face and head under the water. This is assuredly Jaskier, as Yennefer knows his true identity, and the glee she felt before is starting to wane as she wonders who placed an aging curse on her friend. Extremely tricky and difficult to break, aging curses can last a lifetime and drive the accursed insane from the mixture of memories and experiences that will slowly leak into their consciousness as they relive their entire life.

“Hm, well if there is no more Viscount then I suppose you can come with me,” she picks up the soap to help him wash but he plucks it out of her hand and begins to wash himself. She arches an eyebrow curiously, wouldn’t Jaskier, now Julian, have had servants to wash him at this age? He wouldn’t have known how to care for himself. The signs of the fish in the campsite and the makeshift shelter also point to the boy being self-sufficient despite his noble upbringing. How very unusual.

“Why?” Julian asks, immediately on high alert as he glares at her suspiciously again. As the dirt and mud sluices off of him in the water of the bath pink scars start to become visible on his pale skin, lines along his knuckles and back and the odd burn mark here and there. Yennefer’s glee is completely gone now, replaced by rage at the signs of abuse on Julian’s small body.

“Because I want to keep you safe, Julian,” she says calmly, meeting his gaze and not looking away, “I would like to take you to a safe place.” 

He tears his eyes away from hers and slowly resumes washing himself, “Where?”

Her shoulders relax slightly in relief that his curiosity most likely means he’ll come with her, and besides, he has nothing holding him here. Yennefer smiles and rests her arms on the edge of the tub in a comforting gesture, “Kaer Morhen, home of the Witchers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not give permission for my work to be shared or reposted to any other website other than as a weblink to this Archive of Our Own URL with credit given to me.


	2. Bread and Strawberries and Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer and Julian discuss Witchers and Yennefer learns something about Julian's bedtime routine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Implied Underage Rape/Non-Con, Child Abuse, Child Neglect

“Witchers?” Julian asks, looking up quickly from his foot with wide eyes. He had been scrubbing through the thick layer of mud and dirt caked onto the soles of his feet, revealing small cuts and bruises on the skin, “Father says not to trust Witchers. That they’re monsters.”

“Do you believe that?” Yennefer arches an eyebrow at him skeptically, a small smile dancing on her lips. The child has Witcher potions squirreled away in his shitty lean-to for gods’ sake, she can’t imagine that Jaskier was ever afraid of Witchers.

Julian purses his lips together before looking down at his foot again and continuing to scrub at it with his fingernails before muttering reluctantly, “No, I suppose not.”

“I didn’t think so,” she shifts to sit on her hip with her legs stretched out to the side, resting her chin on her arms as she watches him with sparkling violet eyes, “After all, you had to get close to one to get those pretty potions of yours.” He scowls a bit but doesn’t answer, rubbing the soap over his hair and clumsily trying to wash the dirt out of his shoulder-length locks. Yennefer sits up slightly and begins to reach out to help him but he shoots her a warning glare so she holds her hands up and settles back again, allowing him to finish bathing himself.

“Why do you wanna take me to a Witcher house?” Julian asks after a while, dunking his head under the water to rinse out his hair and rubbing his hands through it again. When he sits up he pushes it out of his eyes so he can look at her as she talks, criss crossing his legs in the water and settling his hands in his lap, “Are you gonna drop me there so I become a Witcher, too?” There’s no fear as he speaks of the fate she’s certain his own parents threatened him with, as many parents do across the Continent. Behave or we’ll cart you off to the Witchers and you’ll become one of them.

Yennefer shakes her head and meets his intense gaze. It’s interesting, that such a serious child someday becomes the rather goofy and dramatic man she knows as Jaskier, “No, there’s another child there that I protect and teach magic to. I live there with her and the Witchers help protect us from bad people.” 

Julian hums before breaking the eye contact to look down at his hands in the water, clearly thinking long and hard about the pros and cons of going with her. She can’t deny that she's tempted to see into his mind, watch his thought process as he sits in silence and glares at the water which he swirls gently with his hands, unable to sit fully still. But she doesn’t, granting him his privacy as she patiently waits and keeps the water warm for him; she doesn’t want him catching pneumonia, after all.

Finally, Julian looks up at her and reluctantly nods once, “Alright, I’ll go with you. What are your rules?”

Her eyebrows raise and she can’t stop the flicker of her eyes towards the thin lines of scars across his shoulders and knuckles, “Rules?”

“All adults have rules for children to follow,” he says somberly, “What are yours?”

Yennefer hums as she thinks before shrugging, “I suppose they’re the same as any other adult. And don’t touch anything that looks like a potion or magical without asking me first, it could hurt you.” He nods in understanding and she shifts back on to her knees, resting her hands on the edge of the tub, “Now, are you done bathing?” At his noise of confirmation she stands and picks up his dirty clothes, tossing them into the fire that burns in the hearth before moving the clean clothes to the chair his dirty garments had been resting on and retrieves a towel for him, “Dry off and get dressed in these, we’ll portal to Kaer Morhen in the morning.”

Julian gets out of the bath and takes the towel, drying himself off and dressing himself in the provided clothing before standing awkwardly and looking around while Yennefer sits at the table and composes a letter, her quill quietly scratching across the paper. He glances towards the tent flaps repeatedly and she looks up at him questioningly, “Would you like to bring anything to Kaer Morhen, Julian?” He nods, playing with his fingers as he watches her for permission. “Go ahead and gather your things then, there’s a bag you can use by the door.” He glances at the door again and his eyes widen at the small pack that wasn’t there before, glancing back at Yennefer and picking it up as he scurries out of the tent.

Yennefer listens as his boots crunch over the sticks and twigs on the forest floor while he collects his things before turning back to her letter addressed to Vesemir, explaining that she will be gone from the keep until the following morning and will be bringing a human along with her upon her return. It gives her no small amount of satisfaction that she’s able to boss the elder Witcher around to a certain extent out of mutual respect, the expression on Geralt’s face the first time she just told Vesemir what she was doing with the library of Kaer Morhen when she reorganized it instead of asking him was priceless.

She lifts her head from the letter when she realizes she doesn’t hear Julian creeping around outside anymore and she frowns, pausing and extending her chaos to feel for him again. His presence isn’t far from the camp, a few paces outside of it where he stands hesitantly. She can sense his uncertainty and stays where she is, allowing him to parse out his own decision to come back or try to run even as anxiety turns her stomach into knots. 

A sigh of relief slips quietly from her painted lips as his footsteps draw nearer the tent again and she signs the letter with a flourish, folding it up and sending it off with a flash of purple fire just before Julian enters the tent again, his pack now weighed down by whatever he thought was worth bringing with him. Yennefer doesn’t doubt he has the Witcher potions, which she suspects weren’t a  _ gift _ by any means, and she wonders what else he deemed worth bringing. It had surprised her when she didn’t see his lute anywhere in the camp, seven-year-old Julian clearly doesn’t prioritize music the same way grown Jaskier does.

“Are you hungry, Julian?” Yennefer asks, crossing her legs as she looks at him from where she sits at the table and he nods, creeping closer again. He has both straps of the pack over his small shoulders and looks unwilling to part with it anytime soon so she doesn’t ask him to, only pushing out the chair opposite her at the small table with her foot, “Come sit down, then. I have bread and strawberries and honey.” She figures his sweet tooth is probably even larger as a child and not a man of forty and is pleased to see her guess is correct as his eyes light up and he quickly climbs into the chair, kneeling on it so he can reach the food on the table and put it on his plate.

Yennefer decides to read a book while he eats, allowing him some silence and a way to disguise her observations as she watches him. He stuffs his mouth and eats quickly, like it’s the last meal he’ll ever get, but at the same time he hesitates briefly before each bite and his eyes flicker up to her before he shoves it between his lips and picks up more food before he’s even finished the previous bite. The sorceress worries vaguely about him choking and sets down her book to pour him a glass of cold milk, his eyes widening at her as he drops the strawberry in his hand and swallows what’s in his mouth to pick up the cup in his sticky hands and gulp down the milk. She carefully keeps her expression neutral even as her heart breaks for this child, how long has he been in the woods?

“Julian,” she starts carefully and he looks up at her over the edge of the cup as he continues to drink the milk, “How long have you been wandering around the woods?”

He lowers the cup and takes a few deep, gasping breaths before wiping the milk on his lip onto his sleeve with a shrug, “I dunno. I saw shooting stars the second night.”

There was a meteor shower in this area of Temeria two weeks ago, so he hasn’t been alone long enough to go from being a healthy weight to as starved as he is now. Which means he wasn’t a healthy weight before he was wandering in the woods and Yennefer feels that hot rush of anger flood through her again at the neglect of yet another child. 

“Yennefer?” Julian asks with a deep, worried frown and she realizes she hasn’t spoken in a while, “Did I break a rule?”

She shakes her head quickly to dissuade his anxiety, “No, Julian, I was just thinking. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He nods and his shoulders relax again as he goes back to eating until he’s completely full, his hands and mouth stained pink from the strawberries and everything on his side of the table is some form of sticky from the honey. She offers him a damp rag and he cleans his hands and mouth before starting to wipe down the table to which she frowns softly but doesn’t tell him to stop, letting him work until he deems it satisfactorily clean and he folds the rag up.

“Thank you for the food and the clothes and the bath and the boots and the pack, Yennefer,” Julian says quietly as he looks up at her, clasping his hands in his lap as he sits up straight in his chair.

“You’re very welcome, Julian,” she smiles at him and stands up, “Are you tired? It’s almost nightfall so if you’d like to sleep in my bed instead of on the ground tonight, you may.” 

His expression falls, his face crumpling, and his hands start to shake as he glances at the bed and the back at her as he asks in a trembling voice, “Do I have to take my clothes off for you?”

Yennefer’s smile disappears and becomes a frown, icy horror beginning to creep through her veins, “Why would you do that?” She doesn’t want to hear the answer but she knows she must.

Julian casts his eyes down to the floor as he takes a shuddering breath, sniffling and wiping his eyes quickly, “Father says real men have sex at bedtime. He says if I don’t want to be a pansy whore then I must have sex.” 

She hides her hands in her skirts as they ball into enraged fists. If the fucker wasn’t already dead she’d kill him herself. Yennefer kneels down in front of Julian to bring herself down to his level and shakes her head, “You can keep your clothes on, Julian. Your father is wrong, sex is for people much older than you and not having it at bedtime when you’re a child does not make you a pansy whore or less of a real man.”

He sniffles again and looks up at her, his nose running freely as salty tears drip down his face, “Are you sure? You won’t be mad at me if we don’t have sex?” 

Yennefer can’t possibly voice the total perturbation she feels at every word this child just uttered, knowing that he’s parroting what at least one other adult has said to him in the past, and she has to fight tears of her own anguish on his behalf. Dammit, she’s supposed to be a cold-hearted bitch, but she’s always had such a soft spot for children. “I’m certain,” she says gently, “I swear to you, I will not be upset with you.”

Julian rubs his eyes before wiping his nose on his sleeve and nodding, silently slipping off the chair and going over to the bed and climbing up onto it. He has to use the bed frame itself as a step but he’s able to pull himself up, leaving his boots on and the pack on his back as he curls up on his side as close to the edge of the mattress as possible and closes his eyes. Yennefer watches him with sad eyes as his shaking eases and his breathing evens out when he slips into slumber, sitting back down at the table and remaining there for the night. She can’t imagine it would be good for him to wake up with her in the bed beside him and so, with a sigh, she settles herself with her book to wait for morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not give permission for my work to be shared or reposted to any other website other than as a weblink to this Archive of Our Own URL with credit given to me.


	3. Children Should Be Seen and Not Heard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She crouches to be level with the child as she speaks seriously to him, violet eyes holding blue, “It would not make you less of a man to seek comfort when you are afraid, Julian.”

The miserable drizzle lasts through the night and increases in its intensity to a thick downpour during the early hours of the morning, the weak light of the sun struggling to punch through dark clouds and heavy rainfall to illuminate the clearing and notify Yennefer to the arrival of dawn. She glances at the modest clock on the mantle before letting her eyes wander to the still form of the slumbering child on her bed, the only indication that he didn’t pass in the night being the gentle rise and fall of his shoulder as he sleeps curled up on his side. 

She’s observed that Jaskier, as an adult, is extremely still and quiet in his own unconscious state. At the time she had thought that it was no doubt a learned behavior from sleeping on the road and in the wilderness, the less attention you draw to yourself while in a vulnerable state the better your chances for survival. Truthfully, the only times she’s seen the bard do more than shift slightly in his sleep was the scant handful of occasions she’s happened upon him and the Witcher without either of them knowing she was there, the two of them curled up together in a shared bedroll instead of their separate ones like they respectfully do while she’s in their company. Only then, when tucked under the safety of Geralt’s arm, did she ever hear Jaskier let out the occasional soft murmur.

She wonders now, though, if the stillness truly was a behavior learned from being a traveling bard. No child sleeps this stoically; children tend to snuffle and hum and cough and toss and kick and gurgle and make any number of sounds while asleep. She’s seen this behavior in Cirilla enough times and the girl is fifteen for Melitele’s sake. So the eerie lack of sound from the bed drew Yennefer’s attention frequently in the night as she found herself checking for signs of life before going back to her book and awaiting the dawn. She also found it curious that Julian, as she’s come to differentiate the adult from the child by the names she calls him, refused to surrender his boots or his pack before going to sleep, keeping both on his person.

There’s a deep breath taken from the bed and Yennefer looks up from her book once more as Julian’s eyes flutter and he lifts his fist to rub at them with a yawn, pushing himself up into a seated position on the side of the bed and kicking his dangling feet slightly to wake himself up. He doesn’t speak as he looks around the tent blearily for a few moments, as though remembering what occurred the night before, before his eyes land on her and he slips off of the bed and walks out of the tent to relieve himself. Yennefer doesn’t stop him, she’d be able to catch him if he tried to run away anyway, and he seems to understand this as he returns with a small sigh a few minutes later despite the fact that it was his decision to stay with her in the first place. 

Yennefer fights the smile that threatens to ruin her calm exterior at the familiar expression of vague annoyance at being awake in the morning that so frequently graced Jaskier’s face upon the dainty features of Julian as the child climbs into the chair he occupied at dinner and reaches for an apple in the fruit bowl.

“Would you like me to slice that for you?” Yennefer offers kindly and Julian throws her a look of irritation as he reaches into his pack and pulls out his small knife, cutting a piece out of the apple himself without speaking. She hums in amusement as she sits back again and returns to her book, allowing him some time to eat and wake up fully before they move forward with their plans for the day.

Julian eats silently but glances up at her frequently, shifting his weight on his knees and fidgeting with the apple and the knife in turns as though he wants to say something to her but is either unsure how to or is afraid to. When Yennefer looks up and meets his eyes his cheeks turn pink and he looks down sullenly, embarrassed at being caught staring at her, and she sighs slightly, “If you have something to say, Julian, spit it out.”

He puffs out his cheeks petulantly for just a moment before asking, “Are you still taking me to the Witcher house?”

“It’s more of a school than just a house,” she corrects with a nod, “And yes, I am. There are people there who can help us.” He blinks at her and bites his lip, tapping his fingers lightly on the table as he starts to fidget again. “Out with it, Julian.”

“Why do we need the help of Witchers? Is there a monster?”

Yennefer takes her time to think about her answer, because it’s not quite so cut and dry as yes or no. In a sense, there  _ might _ be. It depends on if she can find out who cursed Jaskier and why they did it while she’s also searching for a key to the curse’s undoing. “The Witchers can keep you safe, safer than you being out alone in the woods by any means. I told you before, I live there, too, so you would be staying with me and the ward I share with a Witcher.” Julian glances away once more as he shifts his weight in his seat and Yennefer rolls her eyes, “If you have questions you can just ask them, Julian. You don’t need me to ask for them.”

He looks up at her with a puzzled expression then, “Children should be seen and not heard.”

She scoffs and shakes her head, crossing her arms, “That’s nonsense, wherever did you get that idea from? Children are noisy beasts.”

“It’s one of the rules all adults have. And you said your rules are the same as all adults.”

Yennefer frowns as she squints at him, recalling her words from last night and nodding slightly, “I did say that, yes. What other rules do all adults have?” At the look of bafflement on Julian’s face she eases her own expression slightly, “Humor me.”

“Um…” he sits back on his knees and plays with his fingers as he thinks, “Do not ask questions unless you know the adult will have the answer, do not make loud noises in the company of others, do not sing or dance or hum without permission, do not speak out of turn or interrupt an adult when holding a conversation… uh…” he pouts slightly as he tries to recall all of the rules he’s been taught over the years, counting them off on his fingers, “do not cry unless gravely injured, do not refuse anything from an adult, do not play with toys when it is not play time, never talk to anyone who doesn’t work for father-” his eyes widen and he looks up at her quickly, “You won’t tell him, will you? That I spoke with you? I don’t think you work for him…”

As the list of rules grew and grew without any sign of stopping, Yennefer had felt her heart further harden against Julian’s parentage and her stomach drop as she realized she had unintentionally subjected the boy to these rules. If she hadn’t noticed his desire to speak, or asked him about the rules in specific, who knows how many others he would have followed without her knowing? How many rules exist that strike fear into the boy’s heart like the one he hasn’t said but she knows must exist if he was asking about having sex last night?

“Yennefer?”

She blinks and looks down to see Julian at her knee, looking up at her worriedly as he twines a loose thread on his shirt around his fingers. With a soft sight she shakes her head and loosens her tightly folded arms across her chest, “No, I won’t tell him. You’re not going back to him anyway, Julian, remember? And I was wrong to tell you to follow the same rules as all adults have, I have different rules.”

He frowns in confusion as he takes in the different statements before choosing which to follow up on, “What are your different rules then?”

Yennefer is almost surprised that he didn’t ask about not going back to his father, but it makes sense that the boy wouldn’t necessarily  _ want _ to go back if he’s afraid of his parents, “My rules are simple. Speak and treat others how you want to be treated, and don’t touch anything that you don’t recognize. Ask first in case it’s magical as I don’t want any harm to come to you. You can talk as much as you like and ask as many questions as you’d like.”

Julian looks up at her with wide eyes but nods in understanding before going back to his seat and sitting on his knees as he cleans his little knife with the napkin at his place setting to put it away and thinking hard about what she’s told him. Yennefer decides to take this time to start to pack things up: vanishing the fruit bowl and then the water in the bath, extinguishing the fire and tucking her book back onto its shelf, tidying up whatever she can find before holding open the flap of the tent and extending a hand to Julian, “Are you coming, little one?”

He looks up from where he’s still sitting at the table and nods, sliding off of the chair and slipping his small hand into hers as they step out of the tent and it disappears behind them. The rain doesn’t soak them, though, as they stand in the downpour and Yennefer gestures with her other hand in a large circle. The wet leaves on the ground swirl up into the air along with dirt and rain, creating a much larger circle of detritus that spins and writhes along the border until the center changes from the woods to an empty dining hall with a great wolf chiseled into the stone of the one visible wall from where they stand. Julian presses closer to Yennefer and she looks down at him with a soft smile, “Would you like me to carry you?” 

He looks up at her and bites his lip nervously before tugging on her arm to make her bend down, whispering to her, “Real men don’t get carried.”

She crouches to be level with the child as she speaks seriously to him, violet eyes holding blue, “It would not make you less of a man to seek comfort when you are afraid, Julian.” Then she adds in a much gentler voice, asking again, “Would you like me to carry you?” Julian looks at the portal and then down at the ground, shuffling his feet slightly before he nods and holds his arms out.

Yennefer slips her own around him, sliding one beneath his bottom and the other around his back as he wraps his arms around her neck and she settles him on her hip. “Have you ever fallen from something, Julian? And your stomach feels like it flips and tickles?” He nods and she rubs his back soothingly, “That’s what it will feel like going through the portal, okay? Do not be afraid, I won’t let you be hurt.”

“Okay,” he whispers and then buries his face in her shoulder as she takes the first step towards the portal. He keeps his head tucked against her neck as they pass through it, the boy shuddering in her grip at the foreign feeling but otherwise having no other ill effects and his arms tighten around her, “Is it over?” 

“Yes,” she murmurs and runs her fingers through his hair to comfort him, “It’s over now. Do you want me to put you down?” There’s no hesitation before Julian is shaking his head and his hands grip the back of her dress tightly. She huffs a laugh and the portal closes, leaving the sounds of the woods and the rain behind them and leaving them with the stillness of the quiet Witcher keep. As it’s late autumn, there should only be Vesemir and Geralt here but the other Witchers will undoubtedly be arriving soon for winter.

“Yennefer! You’re back!” Ciri’s bright voice echoes down the hall and footsteps follow close behind it as the teen runs into the dining hall, “I thought I felt a portal open. Where did you go? I know you said you had to investigate something but you didn’t really give me much information before you left and then you were only gone for a night and now you’re- who’s this?” Ciri’s green eyes pop in surprise at the sight of the boy in Yennefer’s arms, instantly stopping her line of questioning. 

Julian peeks up over his arm to look at Ciri shyly as Yennefer smiles calmly, “Ciri, this is Julian. Julian, this is Cirilla. She’s the girl I told you about.”

Ciri does a shallow curtsy before coming closer to peer at Julian, “Hello, Julian, how old are you? How come Yennefer brought you here? Do you know where this is?”

Julian stares at her for a long few moments before mumbling, “Seven,” his answer muffled slightly by Yennefer’s shoulder. 

“Seven? Yennefer, you didn’t mention that this child would be so… well,  _ young _ ,” Vesemir’s deep voice comes from the doorway and Julian’s eyes widen as he looks at the old Witcher. Yennefer doesn’t sense any fear from the boy though, just nervousness from meeting new people, and the corners of her lips tug into a smile.

“It’s a bit more complicated than I could detail in my letter, Vesemir,” she says cooly, “I only wished to give you a bit of notice before arriving with another of Geralt’s brats. Speaking of, where is the brute?”

“In town, getting some supplies to fix the east wing before winter,” Vesemir’s golden eyes narrow, “And what do you mean, ‘Geralt’s brats’? Don’t tell me he has  _ another _ Child Surprise?”

Yennefer laughs and Julian finally looks away from Vesemir to bury his face in her shoulder again. He doesn’t like it when adults talk about him like he’s not there, but he’s gotten used to it. At least someone’s hugging him.

“Well he  _ is _ a child, and he  _ is _ a surprise, but no, Vesemir darling, he is not a ‘Child Surprise’ like our dear Cirilla,” Yennefer reaches out to ruffle Ciri’s hair and the girl ducks away from the Sorceress’s hand with a playful scowl, “As I said, a little more complicated.”

A set of large wooden doors on the far end of the hall open with an accompanying gust of cold wind that makes Julian shiver in her arms and Vesemir raises his eyebrows as all eyes turn to the door, “Speak of the devil. Did you get everything I asked of you, Geralt?”

“Everything that was available,” Geralt shuts the door behind him and walks over, tilting his head curiously and squinting his eyes, “Yennefer, I didn’t think you’d taken up robbing cradles now.”

“Very funny, Witcher,” she rolls her eyes, “Do you recall when I mentioned, about a fortnight ago, I sensed a change in the flow of chaos somewhere in the Temeria region?” At his nod of recognition Yennefer gestures with her eyes down to the boy in her arms, “Here it is.”

Geralt raises his eyebrows in curiosity as he crosses his arms and leans closer to get a better look and Julian raises his head again to peer back at Geralt, the Witcher blinking in surprise at the clear blue eyes that meet his own gold without fear.

“Julian, say hello,” Yennefer says with a smirk as she watches the wheels in Geralt’s head start to turn and his nostril’s flare slightly as he scents the air, “this is Geralt. I told you about him as well.”

“Hullo,” Julian mumbles nervously and looks down as he chews on his lower lip. The gears continue to crank and Yennefer can almost imagine steam coming out of Geralt’s ears before he finally puts all the puzzle pieces together and his eyes widen in shock as he looks at the little boy on Yennefer’s hip.

“ _ Jaskier _ ?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not give permission for my work to be shared or reposted to any other website other than as a weblink to this Archive of Our Own URL with credit given to me.


	4. He Can Keep A Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hm, Pegasus is a much nicer name,” Julian sniffs and stretches his legs out in front of him, tapping the soles of his boots together, “But I guess Roach works, too. How come Geralt’s best friend isn’t here?” He looks up at Ciri curiously. She’s not an adult, he can probably ask her questions and it’ll be okay.

Julian’s not sure how he came to be in the woods alone for two weeks, and that’s what he tells Yennefer when she asks him. He doesn’t remember how he traveled from Redania to Temeria, he doesn’t recall falling asleep before waking up in the forest, and he certainly doesn’t recollect where the rest of his family is or why he was alone to begin with. It doesn’t bother him much anyway, the two weeks by himself were the best two weeks of his very short life.

Other than the nightmares, of course, but he doesn’t want to talk about those.

He didn’t have to listen to any adults tell him what to do or what to wear so he could be as loud as he wanted and play from the rise of the dawn to the set of dusk. He could sing and dance and jump in puddles and ruin his horrible red and black clothes that he always has to wear in front of company. He didn’t have to study his mathematics or train with swords and he certainly didn’t have to listen to his father yell at him all day long.

Yes, they were the best two weeks of his life. And then he got found by Yennefer.

Julian hasn’t decided how he feels about her just yet. She’s been very kind to him, which is nice, and he admits that her magic is pretty cool; the mage back in Lettenhove only ever healed his injuries just enough that he wasn’t bleeding anymore if he were cut, nothing more. But Julian still doesn’t trust Yennefer, not just yet, she  _ is _ an adult after all and all adults do is boss him around and hurt him when he doesn’t obey fast enough.

Although Yennefer hasn’t done that, yet, she also hasn’t given Julian many orders yet either. So, while she has told him that he can talk as much as he likes and ask her questions whenever he has them, he prefers to remain quiet with his head on her shoulder as he listens to her talk to the Witchers and the girl, Ciri. He’s certain she’ll give him more orders for him to obey, eventually, and he will do so to the very best of his ability so that she doesn’t tire of him or get upset with him. Children must obey adults after all, it’s as much a fact as his hair is brown and his fingers are wiggly.

“Julian,” Yennefer’s voice gets his attention and he blinks as he looks up at her, giving her his undivided attention, “Why don’t you go with Ciri so she can give you a tour of the keep? Would you like that?”

Would he like that? He doesn’t trust Yennefer, but he doesn’t trust Ciri or the Witchers even more, so he wants to say no, he would  _ not _ like that. He would much rather stay here in her arms where he knows it’s a little bit safe. But he’s seven years old, he’s almost a man, he knows an order even when it’s disguised as a question and he knows Yennefer’s question means she wants to talk to the Witchers alone so he nods and she sets him down.

“Do you want to hold my hand?” Ciri offers in a voice that makes it clear she thinks he’s little more than a baby and he feels a spark of irritation.

Julian scowls slightly and shakes his head, “No, thank you. After you.” He waves for her to lead the way and the girl blinks in surprise at his mild hostility mixed with polite manners before she nods and walks out of the dining hall, Julian hot on her heels. 

He wraps his hands around the straps of his pack as he follows her, refusing to look back at Yennefer as he walks away and instead choosing to look at the high, arching ceilings and tall windows that let in the cool autumn light. Ciri shows him the kitchens and the library, the training rooms and the baths, the courtyard, the stables, the guardhouse, the garden, the edge of the woods, and even a small cave system that she found. He decides he’s going to explore everything more thoroughly at night when there aren’t adults watching him, and also that Ciri isn’t so bad even though she’s almost an adult. 

She doesn’t ask him any questions about himself at first, just giving him a tour and chattering away to him, making jokes that he sometimes doesn’t understand but he thinks he might if he lives here long enough. He figures out that the white haired Witcher, whose name he doesn’t remember even though she keeps saying it, is like Ciri’s father and the old Witcher is like her grandfather. He learns that Ciri’s real parents are dead and that she’s a princess, which had made his eyes widen slightly so she told him about the castle she used to live in without him having to ask, which was very kind of her. He learns there are three other Witchers that come in the winter, two for certain and one only sometimes, and Ciri thinks of them as her family, too. Julian thinks she said one of their names was something like Cone? One of them might have been Amber? He’s never been very good with names when he doesn’t see someone frequently enough to remember it.

“What sort of things do you like to do, Julian?” Ciri asks him a question about himself finally and he can tell that she’s brimming with curiosity about him. He hasn’t said a word so far during their tour, even though he’s warmed up to her enough to walk at her side, and he bites his lip as he thinks about her question while she guides them to sit in front of a warm fire in the courtyard.

"Um…” he looks around the empty courtyard as he deliberates if he can tell her things, and if so what exactly he should share. Finally he shrugs his thin shoulders and looks at the fire, “I’unno.”

“Surely you must like to do something,” she points out with a smile, leaning her elbows onto her knees so she can cup her chin in her hands, “Do you like horses? You smiled when we were at the stables.”

He hums vaguely and pulls his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them as he watches the flames dance in the fire pit, “I guess so.”

“Was there any horse you liked in particular?”

Julian rolls his eyes to look at her and shrugs again, staying silent this time. It’s not that he doesn’t  _ want _ to talk to Ciri, she’s very nice to him, but he still doesn’t know her very well in spite of all her talking. He watches as she pulls her lower lip between her teeth and chews on it as she thinks, a faint flush of frustration coming to her cheeks as she narrows her gray eyes at the ground. 

Julian frowns and sighs softly, looking away and down at his feet as he puts his chin on top of his knees. He’s not sure what he did wrong, usually being quiet is better for him, but now Ciri is upset with him and he’s probably in trouble and he wants to ask what his punishment will be but that gets him in  _ more _ trouble so he’ll just wait for it like a good boy even as his stomach starts to tie itself into knots and he feels queasy and his thoughts start to race-

“Roach is my favorite.”

Julian looks up at her in surprise, his anxiety still there but pushed aside in favor of confusion. He expected just about anything other than Ciri continuing the conversation and she must mistake his confusion about her behavior for not knowing which horse Roach was as her soft smile grows and she starts to explain, “Roach is the brown mare with the stripe on her nose and socks on her-”

“I know which horse is Roach,” Julian interrupts and then briefly panics for being so rude to someone older than him but Ciri laughs and his panic gives way to more bafflement.

“Do you remember all the horses?”

“There were only four,” he points out with an indignant huff, “Roach, Buttercup, Jasmine, and Midnight.”

“And do you know who belongs to who?” Ciri asks curiously. 

Julian’s eyes narrow, she’s testing him to see if he was listening. Well the joke’s on her, he’s a great listener and has an amazing memory even if it’s not that good for names, “Roach is your father’s horse, Buttercup is your horse, Jasmine is Yennefer’s horse, and Midnight is the old Witcher’s horse. Also, Roach is a terrible name for a horse. Why would someone name their horse after a fish?”

Ciri grins and laughs, throwing her head back in amusement and Julian feels himself start to smile in response, “What’s so funny?”

“Geralt has always named every single one of his horses Roach,” she explains and Julian puffs out his cheeks in dismay at the poor name choice, “Also, what you said is something that Geralt’s ah… best friend says about Roach’s name as well.”

“That it’s awful and he should try again?”

Ciri nods with a bright grin, “Yep, his best friend tried to rename Roach once. Geralt told me his friend refused to call Roach anything but ‘Pegasus’ for a week until Roach nearly bit him in recompense so he stopped.”

“Hm, Pegasus is a much nicer name,” Julian sniffs and stretches his legs out in front of him, tapping the soles of his boots together, “But I guess Roach works, too. How come Geralt’s best friend isn’t here?” He looks up at Ciri curiously. She’s not an adult, he can probably ask her questions and it’ll be okay.

She bites her lip gently as she thinks about how to answer, “A couple years ago, Geralt and his friend got into a big fight. Geralt said some not very nice things to his friend so his friend left, and the next time they saw each other they had an even bigger fight because his best friend was angry about the things Geralt said and Geralt was still mad about the first fight. They didn’t see each other again for a long time, but when they crossed paths while Geralt was on his way here last winter they apologized and made up and Geralt invited his best friend to come to Kaer Morhen with him. Geralt’s friend was still hurt, though, so while he forgave Geralt for the things Geralt said during both fights, his friend wanted to travel alone for a little while still. His friend said to give him one year, and if Geralt still wanted him around then he’d come to Kaer Morhen this year. Last I had heard, Geralt invited him and was waiting to hear back from his friend.”

“So is his friend coming?”

“I don’t know,” Ciri shakes her head, “I hope so.” When she looks at Julian next there’s something in this look that makes him think there’s something she isn’t telling him, but he doesn’t want to pry and find out what it might be. People older than him are entitled to their secrets, and it’s not his place to find out what they might be.

However, Julian doesn’t like the loaded look Ciri’s giving him and scowls at her, his blue eyes sparking with defensive fury, “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason,” Ciri says quickly and turns her intense gaze elsewhere, “Do you like to play hide and seek, Julian?”

His scowl softens to a frown and he gives her a cautious nod, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches her carefully. She glances over at him and her eyes dart to the pack slung over his shoulders.

“Can you show me what you’ve got in your bag if I promise to play hide and seek with you?”

Julian’s frown deepens as he thinks about her bargain. She had asked what he carries in his bag earlier but he had ignored her question and slapped her hand away when she reached for his pack of her own accord a few minutes after. It’s  _ his _ bag, after all, Yennefer gave it to him and the things inside belong to him. Well, most of them.

“Alright, but no touching,” He says finally and slips the bag off of his shoulders, settling it on his lap and flipping the flap on top open to dig around inside, “And I’m only gonna show you one thing.”

“Okay, that’s a fair deal,” Ciri nods and scoots closer to him, leaning over to peek into the bag so he moves away again with a warning glare at her before he pulls out one of his pieces of glass. “What’s that?”

“I found it, back where Yennefer found me,” he explains and holds it out for Ciri to look at it. It’s tinted green and curved, the edges of it worn smooth from the water of the creek he found it in, and he can see the press of the letters CHARD on the glass before the rest of the word was broken off.

“It’s part of a wine bottle,” Ciri explains with a smile and points to the letters, “I’d bet that used to say Chardonnay. It’s a white wine that’s very popular and put in colored glass bottles so sunlight doesn’t affect it as quickly.”

“It’s very pretty,” Julian says firmly and holds the glass up to the sunlight, looking through it at the sky and watching the clouds warp in the curve of the shard, “I had a lot of them but I didn’t bring them all. They make too much noise all together.”

She nods in understanding as Julian tucks the glass back into his pack and closes the bag, settling it on his shoulders again, “Do you not like noise? You’re very quiet.”

“Children are s’posed to be quiet,” Julian says factually, “And some noise is okay. Like music and talking, I like those. But loud noises I don’t like much, like shouting or shaking.”

“Shaking?”

He nods seriously, “Like when you have a lot of hard things in a box and shake it. Those sounds are bad and make my teeth hurt.” Ciri hums thoughtfully and taps her fingers on her knees as she mulls over this new information before smiling and looking at Julian.

“Okay, you ready to play hide and seek? I’ll count to thirty, alright?”

“What are the rules?”

“No going outside the keep or in the stables, we don’t want to spook the horses. Or any bedrooms! That’s people’s personal spaces.” Julian nods in understanding as Ciri lists the boundaries before she covers her eyes and starts counting out loud and he jumps to his feet, racing away from her.

He sprints out of the courtyard and back into the keep, running until he can’t hear her counting anymore and then dashing even further. His heart pounds in his chest and his lungs scream for air as he runs down a hall he vaguely remembers Ciri showing him so fast that he nearly misses the sight of one of the tapestries shifting from an unseen source of wind. 

Julian stumbles to a halt and backtracks, looking at the tapestry and watching as the bottom of it wavers again. He glances up and down the hall before carefully pulling the heavy ornament away from the wall to reveal a secret door, his curious eyes lighting up with delight and he opens it immediately to slip into the hidden room. This will be perfect for hiding, Ciri will never find him here in a million years.

The tapestry falls back down as he releases it and closes the door gently before he turns to face the secret room, cocking his head slightly as he starts to walk down this new corridor. Why would they have hidden it? It’s very dusty and dark, and the wind blows in through the broken windows, his boots crunching over the shattered glass that lines the dirt covered floors. Julian gets an unpleasant feeling in his hands as his neck prickles and gooseflesh erupts on his arms when he passes a suspiciously dark spot on the chipped and crumbling wall. 

There’s a large hole surrounded by rubble and cobblestone in the side of the hall and Julian creeps closer to it, clambering up the pile of debris and scraping his palms on the rough stone. He doesn’t notice the bite of pain as he squints in the sunlight, his eyes adjusting to the change in brightness while he gazes down at the newly revealed grounds below. Ciri had not shown him this area, it was walled off by hedges and the garden, and Julian gasps as he stands atop the pile of broken armaments and looks down upon the hidden sights.

Rows upon rows of cracked and faded headstones, the grasses that cover the graves having grown long in their age and wave in the gentle autumn breeze. Each gravestone is adorned with a medallion, like the ones he saw Geralt and Vesemir wearing, the metal glinting and flashing as it catches the cool sunlight. Julian feels like he’s been dunked into a tub of ice water as he stares down at the Witcher graveyard that rests below the damaged wing of Kaer Morhen, the wind tussling his brown curls and making his wide eyes water.

His heart pounds in his ears as he’s flooded with panic and he scrambles down from the heap of stone, slipping and sliding and paying no mind to the ripping and tearing of his clothes as they snag during his hurried descent. He faintly feels his leg start to burn and it vaguely registers that he must have gotten a cut but it doesn’t take precedence over the blinding fear that fills him as he sprints back down the dusty hall and throws himself at the door. He shouldn’t be in here, it was hidden for a reason. If they find out he was snooping on things he shouldn’t have been he’s going to be punished so badly. 

Julian slams the door shut and flails in the tapestry for a moment before extracting himself and stumbling backwards away from it, falling to the floor as his ragged breaths echo down the empty hall. He faintly hears footsteps approaching and Ciri’s bright voice calls out, “Found you!”

His head snaps up to look at her and he’s torn as he’s faced with an agonizing choice. If he stays here she’ll ask him why he’s dirty and why his clothes are ruined and he’ll have to explain he was looking at things he shouldn’t have been and she’ll tell the adults and he’ll be punished for snooping. Or, he can run away and hide and she’ll tell the adults he’s hiding from her but maybe he’ll have enough time to come up with a good enough lie to cover his tracks and also change so that they won’t know he was ever dirty. He knows where the baths are since Ciri showed him. That way he won’t get punished at all. Unless they find out about his lie.

“Julian?” Ciri’s voice is concerned and he’s brought back to reality to see her standing over him, her brow furrowed with worry as she takes in his filthy clothes and terrified eyes, “Are you-”

Before she gets the chance to finish her question Julian has leapt to his feet and is racing off again, sprinting away from her and deeper into the keep to lose her and then find the baths. He can tell a little lie, this way no one will know he was snooping where he shouldn’t have been and he won’t get punished. 

He can keep a secret, he’s got so many of them already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not give permission for my work to be shared or reposted to any other website other than as a weblink to this Archive of Our Own URL with credit given to me.


	5. Earning His Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer sighs and brushes her hair back over her shoulder, “Human minds, no matter how resilient, cannot have two sets of memories of the same lifetime.”
> 
> “Why not?” Vesemir speaks up and sips his ale, “It would be like dreaming an event and then not actually experiencing it. You have two memories of the event but it doesn’t make you go mad.”
> 
> “See, but your example uses a dream as the second set of memories,” Yennefer explains patiently, sitting back and lacing her fingers together on the table, “Jaskier wouldn’t have a dream versus an actual memory. He’d have two sets of memories of the same reality. How would he be able to tell which one is his real life? How could he trust his own memories, his own self, let alone the people around him?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be updating this fic on Thursdays moving forward. Thanks for waiting!

When he had woken to the gentle symphony of birdsong with the rise of the dawning sun and nary a cloud in the cool autumn sky, Geralt of Rivia had foolishly assumed that the day would be a nice one.

It had certainly started out as a nice day for him, beginning with training that went smoothly as he and Vesemir honed Ciri’s swordsmanship and she mastered a rather complicated set of footwork. The warm swell of pride in his chest when she completed the maneuver is one he’s become comfortable with over his time with his Child Surprise. He then enjoyed a nice, if simple, breakfast of porridge while he read a book of poetry that Jaskier gifted him some years ago. At the time, Geralt had very nearly laughed at the present, more out of confusion than anything else because he couldn’t fathom why Jaskier thought Geralt would want a book of  _ poetry _ of all things, but when he rediscovered the collection a few weeks earlier in his room upon his return from a contract where he ran into Jaskier and invited his bard to stay at Kaer Morhen for the winter, well he thought the least he could do was crack it open. And Geralt had been surprised yet again, to say the least, at how well the troubadour had come to know him for the poems are neither overly flowery in language nor too heavy-handed on the symbolism while still being impactful in emotion and tone.

After breakfast, Geralt took a list from Vesemir of necessary supplies and headed down the mountain to the town in the foothills of the keep. It required delicate balance, but he’s certain Vesemir is none the wiser for Geralt’s sudden need for socialization and frequent inquiries about whether they need something from town or not. Or at least he hopes so, it would be incredibly embarrassing if his mentor knew how desperate Geralt was for the letter he is awaiting with Jaskier’s decision on his winter accommodations. If Jaskier has agreed to come to Kaer Morhen, then the letter would have been sent ahead of the bard and the man himself will arrive within a fortnight of the correspondence. However, if their amicable year apart has not healed the wounds that Geralt so foolishly bestowed upon Jaskier’s soul and his bard decides to stay away…

Geralt had been determinedly ignoring that train of thought, deciding to take a page out of Jaskier’s book and remain optimistic about the whole thing. Their reunion nearly a year earlier had gone surprisingly well, aside from a few stinging comments born out of lingering hurt which Jaskier then ended up feeling bad about and apologizing for in the middle of Geralt’s apology to him and any lingering awkwardness was dispelled. Jaskier did request a year to travel alone, declining Geralt’s request for the bard to join him at Kaer Morhen last winter, but if they were to come across each other naturally during their time apart then Jaskier would be more than happy to keep Geralt company wherever destiny saw fit to unite them. They then shared a few drinks before ending the night in Jaskier’s room, their clothes discarded across the floor and sweat cooling on their skin as they lay together like they’d never parted at all.

It didn’t hurt any less when Geralt woke up in the morning to a cold bed and an empty room.

Over the year they did run into each other a handful of times, and with each meeting their time together grew longer, with Jaskier joining Geralt on a few contracts, before he departed on his own again. Geralt always held his tongue about how anxious the knowledge of his bard traveling alone made him, especially with Nilfgaard on the lookout for himself and Cirilla as it was. He ended up learning that his fears were unfounded upon the discovery that Jaskier had picked up some skills with a shortsword, and most surprisingly _ was rather good with it,  _ when Geralt ended up pinned beneath a particularly nasty gang of bruxae and his own sword had been out of reach. Jaskier, who still couldn’t stay behind to save his life, had swooped in and instead of the awkward and panicked fumbling that Geralt was used to when Jaskier would be foolishly brave he had lopped the head off of the bruxa holding the Witcher on the ground with an elegant sweep of his sword before turning to fend off the rest of the pack while Geralt regained his bearings and recovered his own weapon, the two of them finishing the monsters together.

When Geralt told Ciri about it later he carefully left out how seeing Jaskier covered in ichor with a gleaming blade in hand and a dangerous glint in his blue eyes had nearly brought Geralt to his knees with desire and the memories of his bard’s almost  _ feral _ snarl as he cut down the monsters that threatened them both to protect his Witcher are something Geralt visualizes when he’s feeling particularly lonely.

He had to pull his mind out of the gutter as he reached the edge of the market in town and quickly went about gathering all the supplies that are in stock before he stopped at the post office to inquire about any correspondence for Kaer Morhen. And Geralt’s slow beating heart definitely did  _ not _ stop when the kindly clerk behind the desk nodded and retrieved a single letter, swapping it for a copper that had barely hit the desk before Geralt was out of the post office again and spurring on Roach to take them out of town again. He is a Witcher, and his hands certainly didn’t shake as he looked at the envelope addressed to ‘Sir Geralt of Rivia, Kaer Morhen, Kaedwen’ in Jaskier’s nearly illegible cursive. And as the Butcher of Blaviken, he most certainly didn’t hold his breath as he slid the tip of his dagger along the top of the envelope to open it and withdrew a single folded piece of paper that Jaskier must have dabbled his scented oils on because how else could this letter smell faintly of lavender and chamomile and, when Geralt pressed his nose to the paper and inhaled deeply, the underlying scent of pure  _ Jaskier _ from his hand skirting across the page as he wrote. Geralt had then glanced around to ensure he was alone before carefully unfolding the letter and reading its contents as a man dying of thirst would drink fresh water.

_ My Dearest Geralt, _

_ As much as I would like to wax poetic about this past year and how our time apart has made my heart grow ever fonder for you, I’m afraid I haven’t the time nor the paper which I’m certain you’re thankful for. I shall cut straight to the point, though it pains me to do so, for we will have plenty of time to talk in the near future. _

_ First, I’d like to thank you for respecting my wishes and allowing me the comfort to travel alone while I sorted out my own thoughts and feelings. I’m certain it was something that caused you no small amount of concern for my wellbeing, which is very sweet, and hopefully I have assuaged those very concerns over the past year with my improvements in my abilities to defend myself. At the very least, I know you find me quite attractive when I am as covered in guts as you, my dear Witcher. _

_ Next, I am extremely grateful to you for extending me the invitation to stay with you and your family this winter in Kaer Morhen. I would be delighted to join you. I have a few loose ends to tie up but should this letter arrive in a timely manner I will be but ten days behind it, reaching Traegen by mid-November. I look forward to seeing you again, Geralt, and accompanying you up the Path to your home. _

_ Finally, I’m afraid I have troubling news as well. I know I haven’t told you much of my own history, my roots are a rather sore subject for me, but I’ve caught wind of rumors that my family’s mage has been searching for me. I haven’t seen our dearest Yennefer anytime recently, but you have mentioned that she frequents Kaer Morhen so if you are able and willing could you please inquire with her about whether the mage, Emilia Ralt, has been sniffing around for someone named Julian Alfred Pankratz? I would appreciate it immensely, my dear, and will tell you everything you could want to know very soon. _

_ I cannot wait to be with you again, my Witcher, _

_ Jaskier _

Geralt had pulled Roach to a stop as he read the letter again, and then again, and then for a fourth time, his heart starting to soar and a wide grin graced his face at Jaskier’s acceptance to winter at Kaer Morhen and the implied finality of forgiveness. He had barely paid attention to the request in the final paragraph, noting it in the back of his mind to ask Yennefer about the mage in question, as he spurred Roach on with a new lightness in his chest and a weight off his shoulders while he began to plan what he needed to do to prepare the keep for Jaskier’s arrival.

And then he’d walked into the dining hall, his expression carefully schooled back to neutrality, to find the very bard after his own heart sat upon Yennefer’s hip and barely older than Geralt himself was when he was left by his mother to the Witchers.

“Julian,” Yennefer says to the boy in her arms and Geralt can’t stop the flash of confusion that he’s sure glances across his face as Jaskier looks up at her timidly, “Why don’t you go with Ciri so she can give you a tour of the keep? Would you like that?” 

Jaskier hesitates before nodding reluctantly and Yennefer sets him down, the heels of his tiny boots thumping across the stone as he walks over to Ciri who smiles kindly and extends her hand, “Do you want to hold my hand?”

Geralt blinks in surprise then at the sudden irate hostility on Jaskier’s face as he shakes his head and primly waves both hands forward for Ciri to lead the way, a scowl set on his pink lips, “No, thank you. After you.” His voice is so high-pitched, Geralt can’t quite make the auditory connection between this  _ child _ and the man he traveled with for twenty-some-odd years, even as he can see the visual similarities as though he were looking at a portrait.

He waits until Ciri and Jaskier have left the dining hall and are out of ear shot before turning to Yennefer with a confused frown on his face, “What the fuck?”

“Very eloquent,” Yennefer says dryly as she rubs her eyes with the tips of her fingers and then brushes her hair back from her face, “Let’s have a drink, shall we? There’s quite a bit to fill you in on and I rather think the supplies from town need to be put away, yes?” 

Vesemir nods with a hum, “Indeed. Geralt, you and I will pack away today’s purchases while Yennefer gets us a drink, if that’s alright with you, madame sorceress?” Geralt suppresses the shudder of discomfort that runs down his spine whenever he sees Vesemir delegate a decision to someone else. Yennefer nods and goes to the kitchen to retrieve the spirits so the Witchers go back outside to where Geralt left Roach’s saddlebags on the doorstep, each of them taking one to sort out the contents.

An hour later they’re gathered once more in the dining hall, sat at the end of the one long table that stands at the far side of the large room, the center left open and empty for training during the winter or inclement weather. Geralt has a glass of strong spirits in hand while Vesemir nurses an ale, a glass of red wine dangles from Yennefer’s fingers as she thinks of how best to begin.

“So, Jaskier is a child now,” Geralt prompts her after the silence has stretched for too long. It’s not technically a question but there’s the question of  _ how _ in his statement.

Yennefer nods and sips her wine, her violet eyes flicking over to Geralt, “As you know, a couple weeks ago I felt a mild fluctuation in the chaos of the Continent. Usually, I ignore these because they happen relatively frequently when you’re around other mages as the use of any sort of magic causes a fluctuation.”

“We aren’t near any other mages, though,” Geralt points out and Yennefer nods again.

“Exactly. Which is why I decided to look into it. I didn’t do it right away because Ciri and I were at an integral point in her training and it didn’t feel like a big enough use of magic to require my attention right away. Clearly it didn’t bother any other mages or I wouldn’t have found Jaskier at all.”

“You said you found the boy in Temeria, right?” Vesemir wraps his grizzled hands around the tankard of ale as he tilts his head, “What would Jaskier have been doing there? Geralt, I thought you and he had most recently been in Kerack. With winter coming, I’d have thought the bard would have stayed near the coast on his way to Oxenfurt.”

Geralt shakes his head and pulls the letter out of an inner pocket of his unlaced jerkin, “I received this from him this morning. He must have sent it before whatever magic caused him to be a child.” Yennefer starts to reach for it and he pulls the letter away, his cheeks turning faintly pink, he doesn’t want anyone else to read some of the tender words in the correspondence, “He was on his way to Traegen.”

“So you two have finally finished patching things up, then?” Yennefer smirks at him playfully and Geralt rolls his eyes, covering the folded paper with his hand and ducking his head in embarrassment, “Well, it sounds like dear Jaskier was on his way here, so that’s one mystery solved. Another is who might have done this, why they did this, and how long this will last.”

“What exactly is  _ this _ , anyway, Yen?” Geralt sighs and takes a long drink of his alcohol, feeling a headache brewing. He’s pretty sure he’s in love with Jaskier, but boy does the man make it hard to love him.

“I assume you’re referring to the fact that Jaskier is all of seven years old right now instead of his typical forty-something?” She raises her eyebrows and he nods, “It’s an age curse, which is obvious so don’t make any smart comments. Age curses are old magic, the Council did away with them centuries ago because they’re inhumane and dangerous. Technically, you can make someone immortal by repeatedly placing an age curse on them, so that they never die, however when they regress in age they experience temporary amnesia. Jaskier currently does not have all of his memories of his forty-something years of life, he only has the memories of his first seven and maybe a few others.

“Like anyone with amnesia, his memories can be jogged by familiar senses. Ordinarily, this wouldn’t be a problem, however Jaskier is currently seven and barely knows what a Witcher is. If he remembers things that, to him, haven’t happened yet and then those things  _ don’t _ happen when he reaches those ages that they should have happened, it could drive him mad.”

Geralt’s frown deepens as he thinks, “So if he stays like this and remembers, say, how he and I met when he was eighteen… having a contradictory memory of meeting me when he’s seven could hurt his mind?”

“Not exactly, but you’re on the right path,” she shakes her head, “If Jaskier were to remember now how the two of you met and suppose we don’t manage to break the curse, then when he’s eighteen again he will expect his memories to be reality but they wouldn’t be because you’ve already met him when he was eighteen in Posada. Not to mention the eleven years of his life before that of memories he may have regained.”

Yennefer sighs and brushes her hair back over her shoulder, “Human minds, no matter how resilient, cannot have two sets of memories of the same lifetime.”

“Why not?” Vesemir speaks up and sips his ale, “It would be like dreaming an event and then not actually experiencing it. You have two memories of the event but it doesn’t make you go mad.”

“See, but your example uses a  _ dream _ as the second set of memories,” Yennefer explains patiently, sitting back and lacing her fingers together on the table, “Jaskier wouldn’t have a dream versus an actual memory. He’d have two sets of memories of the same reality. How would he be able to tell which one is his real life? How could he trust his own memories, his own self, let alone the people around him?”

Geralt frowns as he thinks he understands. He can’t imagine not being able to trust his own memories, as haunting as they are to him, his experiences shape who he is. He glances down at the letter under his hand and unfolds it to look at Jaskier’s cramped scrawl of cursive, skimming it for the umpteenth time.  _ I’m afraid I have troubling news as well _ . 

“Jaskier mentions a mage in his letter,” Geralt looks up at Yennefer, sheepishly adding, “I kept forgetting to fully read the letter after he agrees to come to Kaer Morhen but he finishes by asking me to ask you about the mage that worked for his family. He says he had heard rumors she was looking for him and he wanted to know if you knew anything about it, mage’s name is Emilia Ralt?”

“Emilia Ralt…” Yennefer echoes, looking deep in thought as she tries to remember if she recognizes the name or not, “I can’t say I’m familiar with her, I’ll look into it. It’s extremely possible that this mage is the one who put the age curse on Jaskier, and if so then we’ll need to find her for the easiest way to undo it.”

“You’re not able to?”

She gives him a wry smile, “As much as I appreciate your confidence in me, Geralt, this magic is older than I’m personally familiar with. I would need to do some research on it to see if there’s a chance someone other than the original caster can undo it, which I’m planning on doing in the event that this Emilia is no longer with us.”

They all fall silent for a while as they think about what’s been revealed and the few extra pieces that they’ve been able to fit into the puzzle. They still don’t know why Emilia was looking for Jaskier, or why she may have put the age curse on him. Geralt sighs and rubs his forehead to stave off his headache a little longer, closing his eyes and resting his head on his knuckles.

“There are some… other things I’d like to discuss,” Yennefer says, in a much more subdued voice that grabs Geralt’s attention immediately, “About Jaskier.”

“Is something wrong? Other than the obvious?” Geralt can’t stop the heavy weight of dread that settles in his stomach as he looks up at the pinched expression on Yennefer’s face.

She hums and swirls the wine in her glass, looking deep into its contents, “I have some suspicions, and some concerns, about Jaskier’s childhood. What has he told you about it?”

“Not much,” he admits and scratches at the stubble on his chin, “He was a viscount’s son, now a viscount in his own right since his father is dead. I think he might have siblings, he’s mentioned a sister at some point when I asked how he knows how to braid hair. He ran away to Oxenfurt when he was fourteen for his education, and he wasn’t very favorable to his parents. That’s about it, Jaskier’s always been extremely tight lipped about his family.”

Yennefer nods and sets her wine glass down again without drinking any of the contents, “It’s not my story to tell, then, but for his sake I can give you both some advice on how best to interact with him. That I’ve found, so far, I’ve only known him this way for a day at most.” 

Geralt frowns and downs the rest of his drink, setting the glass down beside the unfolded letter on the table. He had noticed that Jaskier seemed oddly shy, compared to how he knows his outgoing and extroverted adult counterpart, but had chalked it up to childhood nerves around new people.

“I don’t think he’ll respond to Jaskier, only Julian right now. He doesn’t talk much,” She starts with, “which was shocking to me considering how we usually can’t get him to shut up. He’s uncomfortable with adults entirely, extremely distrusting of us. If you ask him to do something, he’ll do it without question because he thinks he has to be perfectly obedient to be treated well, so if you do ask something of him I please ask that you be kind about it.” Geralt wants to ask the reason for this advice but he knows she won’t tell him, it’s not her place or her story to share. “He hasn’t asked for anything yet, and I’m worried that he won’t ask for what he needs. I’ve been trying to offer him things periodically by asking him if he wants something and giving him options.”

“Why wouldn’t he ask for things?” Geralt can’t hold his tongue as his bafflement shines through, “He’s a child of nobility, surely he’s never wanted for anything.”

Yennefer levels him with a stern look and he wilts under her glare slightly, “I don’t think Jaskier was treated well as a child, and that’s all I’m going to say on that matter. Most importantly, under no circumstances should anyone get undressed around him. Even if you’re to help him bathe, remain fully clothed. And don’t be alone in a bedroom with him.” Geralt narrows his eyes as he mulls over this command, why would it be one that Yennefer thought to mention? Usually children of Jaskier's current age have no qualms about nudity, and to not be alone in a bedroom?

Geralt feels his stomach drop as he comes to a chilling realization, his eyes snapping up to Yennefer’s, “Has he been…?”

“I don’t know for certain, but I highly suspect it,” she says somberly, her knuckles white from how tightly she grips the edge of the table, “My number one priority, aside from figuring out how to restore Jaskier to his prior self, is earning his trust. We need to show him that he’s safe here, with us, and that we won’t hurt him.” 

Geralt and Vesemir both nod in understanding and then look up as quick footsteps approach the dining hall, Ciri running in with a panicked expression. “Ciri, what’s wrong? Where’s Jaskier?” Geralt stands up slightly, already moving towards his child.

“We were playing hide and seek because I thought it would help him relax but then when I found him he looked really scared and ran away from me and now I can’t find him anywhere, I’m so sorry!” Ciri says in a rush, her cheeks flooded with a blush of shame as she looks down at the ground.

“It’s alright, we’ll find him,” Geralt squeezes her shoulder, “Where did you already look?” 

Ciri explains that she’d already searched all the bedrooms, the stables, the courtyard, the armory, the medical wing, and the library. It doesn’t leave much else of the keep to search so they split up, Vesemir heading for the forest while Yennefer takes the caves and Ciri double checks everywhere she’s already searched in case Jaskier is still on the move. Geralt heads towards the underground hot springs which are used as baths, his jaw clenching tightly with worry as he thinks about all of what’s happened.

He loathes the idea of Jaskier being abused as a child, it makes something hot and prickly spread through his body and his hands curl into fists at his sides as he nearly shakes with rage at the adults that hurt him. He loves Jaskier, he thinks, and he was finally going to have his bard back in his arms for an entire winter. He had  _ plans _ for him and his bard, and not just ones that involve a soft bed and copious amounts of oil. Geralt was going to show Jaskier all his favorite secrets of the keep and then all the places and things that he thought Jaskier would love as well. He wanted to take Jaskier through the cave system, show him the lake, sit atop the eastern wall to watch the sun rise and on the western wall to watch it set. He wanted to bundle them up together to stargaze as you only can on the coldest and clearest of winter nights, spend lazy mornings kissing the haze of sleep away from Jaskier’s blue eyes.

And now he might not get to, all because of the family from Jaskier’s past that he knows next to nothing about.

Geralt’s footsteps echo through the cavern as he descends the stairs, the faint scent of sulfur from the hot springs rising up to meet his nose along with Jaskier’s own childlike scent of wildflowers. Children always have a sweeter smell than adults, and Jaskier as a child is no exception and it makes Geralt miss the more refined scent of adult Jaskier, oak trees and dandelions.

“Jas- uh, Julian?” Geralt catches himself and calls out the child’s name as he enters the cavern lit by enchanted torches that never go out. It’s as high ceilinged as any other part of the keep, and the walls glitter with minerals and gems that were deemed too poor to sell. There’s six pools throughout the cavern and in the one furthest from the stairs, one of the coldest pools, he sees Julian’s dark hair. 

The boy is sunk down deep in the water, just his nose and the top of his head held above the surface for breathing purposes, and his backpack sits next to the pool along with clumsily folded clothes and his boots. Geralt grabs a towel from the shelves by the stairs as he cautiously walks over, making plenty of noise and approaching from the front so Julian can see him.

Julian’s blue eyes immediately snap to Geralt’s approaching form and he moves away in the water as the Witcher moves closer so Geralt stops and kneels down at the far end of the pool, resting the towel on his knees, “Julian, are you okay?”

He doesn’t reply, staying low in the water and moving backwards towards the wall that his belongings are on and he sticks one thin arm out of the water, grabbing the strap of his bag without tearing his eyes away from Geralt. The water is dark enough that Geralt can’t see very far under the surface, giving any occupants a modicum of privacy while they bathe, but what he can see of the boy makes his heart tug in his chest. The stark collarbone and ribs that press at his pale skin, the thinness of his shoulders and sharpness of his cheekbones, Geralt is no expert on children but he’s fairly certain that they shouldn’t look like they’re on their way to becoming living skeletons at seven-years-old.

“Are you okay?” Geralt repeats gently, sitting back on his heels and patiently waiting for the boy’s response. After a long time Julian nods once, neither looking away nor relinquishing his grip on his bag. When Geralt glances at it Julian twitches slightly, like he’s about to pull the bag into the water as well just to make sure it doesn’t get taken away from him.

“My name is Geralt, I’m Ciri’s dad,” Geralt shifts to sit criss cross and leans his elbows on his knees, trying to make himself look smaller and less intimidating, “Can I ask why you’re taking a bath by yourself?” No answer. “How come you ran away from Ciri?” Julian tenses slightly but doesn’t say anything still, his eyes narrowing. “How long have you been in the bath?” With a sharp jerk of his shoulders, Julian shrugs at Geralt.

Geralt sighs as he tries to think of what to do while still following Yennefer’s orders and says off-handedly, “You know, if you stay in the bath for too long you’ll turn into a drowner.” 

Julian blinks at him and rises up just enough for his mouth to be out of the water, “May I please ask you a question?”

“You just did,” Geralt smiles wryly and Julian frowns at him, “Go ahead.”

“What’s a drowner?”

“Hmm,” he hums as he thinks of the best way to describe the monster to a little boy without scaring him. Granted, Geralt was just told what drowners are along with many other monsters when he started training to be a Witcher, but Julian isn’t getting that same training, “Drowners are monsters. They look like human people, kind of, but they live in the water and eat humans by drowning them first.”

Julian’s eyes are wide as he listens to Geralt and his grip on his bag loosens slightly, “May I please ask you another question?” Geralt nods and Julian finally looks away from Geralt for a moment as he thinks of how to ask his inquiry, “Is that true?”

“Which part?”

“That I’ll be a drowner if I stay in the bath too long,” Julian frowns seriously at Geralt.

As much as Geralt would love to tease the boy as he would Ciri or Jaskier, he thinks it’s best to be honest and shakes his head, “No, I was just making a joke.”

Julian hums and keeps his eyes on Geralt as he thinks, bobbing slightly in the water as he gently pushes off the bottom of the pool with his toes and lets himself sink back down again. The child avoids any and all eye contact though, looking at Geralt’s forehead or nose to simulate it, and Geralt cocks his head slightly in curiosity.

“Do you think you can come out of the bath, now? You’re going to get wrinkly fingers and toes for staying in the water,” Geralt sets the towel down a few feet away from himself before scooting even further from it so he can’t reach the towel anymore, or Julian if the child were to approach it. Julian lets go of the strap of his bag and watches Geralt closely as he edges over to the towel, reaching out and grabbing it from away as far as he possibly can and then quickly moves back to where his things are as he holds the towel above his head.

“May I please make a request?” Julian asks, still holding the towel above his head and staring at Geralt.

“Of course, and you don’t have to ask if you can ask questions or make requests. You can just ask them.”

“Could you please turn around so I can have privacy getting out?” Julian frowns imploringly at him, his hands clenching the towel tighter, “I have my small clothes on but I would be more comfortable if you were looking away, please. If that’s alright with you.”

Geralt has to fight the sad frown that threatens his patient expression and nods, turning around so his back to the boy and listening to the splash of water as Julian climbs out of the pool. He hears the rustling of fabric while the child dries himself and then dresses himself in his clothes from before which, when Geralt gets the okay to turn around again, he sees are completely filthy.

“Why don’t we find you some clean clothes, is that okay?” Geralt asks quietly and Julian shoulders his pack, scuffing his boots on the stone floor before picking up his wet towel and nodding, staying silent as he follows Geralt out of the baths and back upstairs.

Yennefer wasn’t kidding when he said Julian doesn’t speak much, the only signs of the child still being behind him are the occasional scuff of his boot on the ground as he walks about ten paces back, the distrust he has for Geralt clear in the way he keeps his distance. That heavy feeling of sorrow fills Geralt’s chest as he glances over his shoulder at the serious boy behind him and wonders what on earth could make someone as bright and happy as Jaskier into the lost child that follows him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not give permission for my work to be shared or reposted to any other website other than as a weblink to this Archive of Our Own URL with credit given to me.


	6. I'm Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciri tries to get to know Julian a little more and Julian has an outburst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a day late, enjoy!!

As the crown princess of Cintra, Ciri doesn’t have a lot of experience with small children. Even when she snuck out of the castle clad in scratchy wool clothes to play knucklebones with the commoners she thought were her friends she always chose kids around the same age as her. Occasionally, one of them would have a younger sibling with them which wasn’t so bad since Ciri got to play with the little kid but was absolved of any of the responsibility of watching over them so if they became difficult she could just look the other away awkwardly while their sibling scolded them, but with that being the extent of her child rearing experience Ciri could pretty comfortably say that she doesn’t mind kids and rather enjoys being around them.

She likes how energetic they tend to be, curious about anything and everything and usually very talkative. She likes that kids enjoy rough-housing and wrestling, frequently climbing any human being taller than themselves who will stand still long enough. She likes watching them figure out a puzzle that she might have drawn in the dirt for them or ponder over a riddle she’s imparted them with. Sometimes they get frustrated by those ones though, but just because they’re not old enough to be smart enough to figure it out just yet, so she had to be careful not to over excite anybody to the point of tears. She doesn’t like it when kids cry, it makes her feel bad and she’s never quite sure how to fix it.

Julian has been with them at Kaer Morhen for two weeks now, and Ciri isn’t sure how she feels about him.

He can be energetic and curious, but he’s not very talkative if there’s more than one person in the room. He doesn’t touch anyone unless he has to, other than Yennefer who he sticks to like glue when she’s around. He’s very smart and able to figure out every puzzle Ciri’s given him so far, but riddles trip him up because he has secret rules in his head for everything and he refuses to tell them to her. He never cries but he can flip on a dime from calm and pleasant to frustrated and angry when she doesn’t understand what he needs since he doesn’t do much more than ask her questions and occasionally give her minor input to their mostly one-sided conversations. It’s like having a tiny Geralt around from when Ciri first met Geralt two years ago, and it’s exhausting.

Yennefer tries to reassure her that it’s a good thing that Julian will express any emotions in front of her that are more than mild ones, it means he’s more comfortable around her than any of the adults, including herself. But Ciri doesn’t feel particularly lucky whenever she, yet again, misunderstands what Julian is trying to convey to her in stilted sentences and he gets frustrated and runs off to hide again.

That’s the most annoying thing, she thinks, is his hiding. Whenever he decides he’s feeling too strongly about anything he’ll run away and hide somewhere in the keep and it’s surprisingly difficult to find him. It disrupts everything too, any training that’s going on or lessons will be paused so the Witchers and Ciri can go look for him yet again. At first, his hiding spots were random places he could wedge himself into, anywhere dark and small and unnoticeable at first glance. But Geralt is the one who notices Julian starts to favor certain places: the towel cupboard in the baths, a small cavern in the caves that only he can fit in, under the bed in the room he was set up in beside Yennefer’s, and between the icebox and the wall in the kitchen. It certainly reduces the amount of time needed to find him, and their frustration at their daily routine being interrupted so frequently abates a little bit.

It’s Ciri’s day to watch Julian, her and the adults having put together a rotating schedule so the child isn’t running around unsupervised while Yennefer is searching for the sorceress who might have some answers, and she leaves him in the courtyard while she goes to get them some food. She’s comfortable leaving him alone since Geralt and Vesemir are nearby on the training grounds, the clashing of their swords echoing across the grounds, and when she returns with some dried figs and toast her heart stops for a moment when she doesn’t immediately see Julian where she left him.

“Julian?” She calls out as she looks around, taking a few large steps away from the door in case he’s just out of sight. At the edge of the training grounds she spots his dark hair and sighs in relief, starting towards him, “What are you doing over there?”

He either doesn’t hear her or he ignores her as he watches the Witchers train, copying some of their movements with a look of stern concentration on his face as he glances down at his dusty boots while he shuffles them in the dirt. Ciri spots a dagger in his hand that he wields like a sword, his pack bouncing against his back when he copies a spin he sees Geralt do and nearly loses his balance, pinwheeling his arms to regain it. Julian huffs irritably and straightens up before attempting the move again, moving more slowly through it. Ciri can recognize that he has prior knowledge of sword forms since his feet are positioned correctly when he restarts each movement and he holds the dagger like it should have more weight than it does.

Ciri is certain that both Vesemir and Geralt are aware of Julian’s presence and mimicry, especially if the small smile on Geralt’s lips is anything to go by, so she decides not to interrupt him and sits down on a low wall nearby and watches in interest as he manages to teach himself decent imitations of Witcher fighting styles. It makes her wonder what sort of training Julian had before he was brought here; who the child is is a frequent source of deliberation when she lies in bed at night. It’s the one thing he immediately shuts down about, any questions about his family or his home leading to cold silences and if she needles too much he runs away to hide.

After another twenty minutes, Julian is panting and tucks the dagger back into his pack before flopping onto the ground on his stomach and watching a line of ants march across the dirt. Ciri gets up and walks over then, making sure her footsteps are loud enough to be heard before she sits down beside him and sets a plate on the ground, “Brought you some toast and figs. You hungry?”

“Mhm,” Julian nods and moves to sit criss cross as he looks up at Geralt and Vesemir again, his blue eyes squinted slightly as he quietly thinks. Ciri wants to prompt him for his question, since sometimes he needs the encouragement to ask it, but decides to wait first to see if he’ll ask it on his own. 

After a long silence between them, filled only by the grunts of exertion from the Witchers and the clang of steel on steel, Julian looks over at Ciri and tilts his head, “Are you a Witcher, too?”

She blinks in surprise, glancing over at him curiously as she thinks about his question. He doesn’t usually ask her about herself, not that he’s selfish by any means he just seems to avoid getting to know more information about any of them. Ciri shakes her head with a kind smile, “No, I’m training with them so I can protect myself and others when I become a queen.”

He’s quiet for a moment as he squints at her before stating plainly, “You’re related to Queen Calanthe of Cintra.”

“How did you know that?” She asks in surprise, a pang of homesickness and grief filling her heart like it does whenever she thinks of her grandmother.

“You look like her, I’ve seen portraits, and my father says she is a warrior queen and we should fear and respect her,” Julian shrugs and looks back at the Witchers, “what other future queen would train to fight with Witchers than one related to Queen Calanthe?”

Ciri frowns slightly, still watching him as he watches the training, “You’re very perceptive, Julian, you know that?”

Julian frowns at that, looking down at the toast he’s still picking at and he sighs, “I’ve been told so. I wish I wasn’t, It’s not a good thing.”

“Why isn’t it?” 

“It gets me in trouble,” he shrugs and pulls at the grass nearby, yanking handfuls of it up and tossing it into the air to watch the wind catch the blades and blow them away, “Adults don’t like it when I can figure things out about them.”

“What other things have you figured out about me?” Ciri asks curiously, pulling her knees to her chest and crossing her arms over them, “You can tell me, I won’t get mad. I promise.”

Julian looks over at her for a few moments as though he’s debating if he trusts her to be telling the truth or not before he nods and looks away again, “You’re sad a lot, probably because you miss Cintra, but you don’t wanna tell Geralt or he’ll feel bad because you live here now with him. I frustrate you because I don’t act like how you want me to, but I don’t know how you want me to be so I can’t act that way to make it better. You think Yenna is like your mum but you’re scared to tell her that in case she doesn’t want to be your mum. And you like the girl in town who works at the blacksmith, as more than just a friend since you sneak out to see her.”

“How do you know all that?” Ciri’s eyes are wide and she struggles to tamp down the spark of indignation and fury that warms her stomach and heats her flushed cheeks. How could this child figure all those things out about her? She doesn’t tell anyone any of those things.

Julian shrugs, “That word you said. I’m perspective. I like to watch people since I’m not allowed to talk a lot and when you watch people a lot you learn stuff a lot.”

As quickly as it came the fury abates, leaving her cold and sad at his words, “Julian… you know you’re allowed to talk as much as you want here, right?”

His lips twist into an irritated frown then and he shakes his head, “You all keep saying that but I know it’s not true. I’ll start talking and talking and talking and you’ll get tired of it and tell me to shut up and be quiet like a good boy. It always happens every time I meet new adults, they all say the same fucking thing and they’re all the fucking same!” He gets to his feet angrily and storms off to the other side of the training grounds, sitting down on a rock with his back to her to overlook the valley below the mountain and leaving Ciri in shocked silence. 

Geralt and Vesemir have stopped training upon Julian’s outburst and are looking at him as well before Vesemir murmurs something to Geralt and walks back towards the keep so Geralt quietly makes his way over to Julian and sits down on the rock next to him. Ciri watches them sit in silence together before Geralt leans over to talk to Julian and the boy’s shoulders hunch inwards as he pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them. She can’t hear what Geralt is saying or see either of their expressions but she recognizes the concerned tension in the Witcher’s spine as he holds himself very still. 

Whatever Geralt is saying to Julian doesn’t seem to be calming him down as Julian curls up more and more and Ciri is suddenly reminded of winding up a spring, you can apply a lot of tension to it but eventually it’ll snap and when it does it’ll hurt. Julian’s been under a lot of pressure these past two weeks, coming to a new place and meeting all new people, he’s been thrust into an unfamiliar environment and Ciri suddenly feels bad for every second of frustration or irritation she’s held towards him. She wasn’t much better after the fall of Cintra, crying at the drop of a pin or getting angry at the smallest of irritants, she took her frustrations out on Geralt more times than she can remember and he always stayed there. Maybe not patiently, sometimes he got angry too, but he never left her.

She had asked him once, long after they’d made it Kaer Morhen and she could recognize her poor behavior, why he didn’t just leave when she was such a burden, when she was so cruel and unpredictable to him every day. How was he able to put up with her? He had smiled a sad smile and looked at a string that he had and still has tied around his wrist and told her that he could empathize with her pain and how she lashed out at him, he saw himself in her unchecked rage and took a page out of the book of his best friend for how best to handle it. He’d never mentioned a best friend to her before so she had asked and then he was suddenly telling her the whole story of a young bard who couldn’t take a hint that Geralt was only half-heartedly giving to get lost and how the bard slowly became his best friend and he ruined everything.

_ “If you two are truly best friends like how you say, then I’m certain he misses you, too. You should go find him and apologize and invite him to stay with us here.” _ Ciri had said to him and Geralt had smiled sadly again and ruffled her hair as he hummed a maybe. 

She sighs as she glances back towards where Vesemir disappeared to, wondering if there’s a better way for them all to be going about getting Julian to get more comfortable here with them. 

“ _ Will you just shut the fuck up _ ?” She startles as there’s suddenly shouting from the rock and her head snaps back towards Geralt and Julian, her eyes wide as she watches the boy yell at Geralt from where he stands on the rock so that he’s taller than the seated Witcher. Geralt looks just as startled by this turn of events as he leans away from Julian, looking up at the boy’s angrily flushed face with wide golden eyes.

“Shut up! Shut up and leave me the fuck alone! I don’t know you, any of you! You’re pretending to be my friends but I know what adults are like!” Julian stomps his foot and throws his hands out to his sides, needing to move to expel some of the angry energy that’s filled his little body, “You pretend and you smile at me and you’re nice and pretty until I start to think you’re different! Maybe this time is different! But it never is and I don’t wanna get hurt anymore! I’m tired of being good and getting hurt! I try so hard to be a good boy, I do everything everyone tells me to all the time and it’s never good enough! So just shut the fuck up and stop trying to tell me lies because I know you’re lying because I’m never good enough!  _ Why am I not good enough _ ?” He breaks down into loud sobs, letting his head fall back as his body shakes with them and Geralt’s shock immediately turns to concern as he asks something that Ciri can’t hear but Julian nods and collapses into Geralt’s lap, flinging his thin arms around the Witcher’s neck as he cries. 

Geralt hugs him back tightly, tucking Julian under his chin against his chest and rocking the boy gently to soothe him and Ciri gets up from where she’s sitting, picking up the plates and going inside as she suddenly feels like she’s intruding on a private moment. Her heart is heavy and her stomach ties itself in knots as she walks to the kitchen to put the uneaten food on Julian’s plate away, a deep frown on her face while she thinks. Ciri had a feeling there was more going on than with Julian than she knew, she had noticed the scars on his knuckles after all and he doesn’t act like a normal child by any means, and this just confirms it.

She resolves herself to ask Yennefer about it, Ciri needs to be in the loop if she’s to help Julian get better. She guesses she does know how she feels about Julian after all, and it’s an unfamiliar fierce sort of protectiveness that coils deep in her belly and makes her want to protect him from anything that could hurt him, even his own past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not give permission for my work to be shared or reposted to any other website other than as a weblink to this Archive of Our Own URL with credit given to me.


	7. Five Weeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightly, Geralt’s keen hearing would force him to listen as Julian started snuffling and moaning, whimpering pitifully in his sleep as nightmares plagued the child until he woke with a sharp gasp. He’d lay awake with his twisting heart and listen to Julian stifle his sobs into the sheets to remain as silent as possible and whispering to himself that real men don’t cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Says updates will be on Thursdays and then updates on Friday the next two weeks.
> 
> Enjoy!

It’s been five weeks. Five weeks since Geralt received confirmation of Jaskier’s travel towards Kaedwen to join him in Kaer Morhen for the winter. Thirty five days since he returned home from the town to find Yennefer with Jaskier -- Julian, on her hip and looking about as friendly as an agitated rattlesnake. It’s been thirty five days and she’s had little success in tracking down Emilia Ralt, alleged family mage to the Pankratz’, aside from using a tracking spell to find Jaskier’s belongings. Upon her return she reported her findings of his camp not having been more than ten miles from where she found Julian, however there were no lingering traces of chaos for her to follow and find the mage. She had also recovered his pack, ransacked by animals in a way that dirtied his delicate clothing that Jaskier always took such care of with the explanation of never knowing when his next performance would come: be it a tavern, a court, or just a passing traveler on the road, they all got the same effort and energy as Jaskier would put 110% into every occasion to shine. The bard wielded his lute and his voice with the same deftness and capability that Geralt swung his own swords and at first it had been another annoyance, another thing the Witcher didn’t understand, but over time he’d come to recognize that Jaskier’s music was as much a weapon against mankind as the silver slung across Geralt’s back was against monsters.

The valued lute in question, the instrument Jaskier took as much effort in caring for as his own self ever since it was bestowed upon him by Filavandrel, was found smashed to bits as though used as a last resort in self-defense when the bard’s daggers and sword weren’t enough.

The first two weeks that Julian was in Kaer Morhen was near torture. The child was almost as silent as the grave, only speaking if he was alone with his conversationalist of choice, and getting information from him was like letting blood from a stone. He was stubborn and angry and confused and  _ scared _ and if that didn’t give Geralt violent flashbacks to his own time as a boy roaming the halls of Kaer Morhen. 

Nightly, Geralt’s keen hearing would force him to listen as Julian started snuffling and moaning, whimpering pitifully in his sleep as nightmares plagued the child until he woke with a sharp gasp. He’d lay awake with his twisting heart and listen to Julian stifle his sobs into the sheets to remain as silent as possible and whispering to himself that real men don’t cry, no doubt a byproduct of his parentage. Geralt had realized then that in his twenty plus years of being in the bard’s acquaintance, he had never once seen Jaskier cry. Not from pain or sorrow or joy or any number of other emotions that Jaskier felt so freely and fully. Even in situations where Geralt had felt his own eyes start to burn he never saw Jaskier’s baby blues grow glassy with unshed tears. It had taken over fifty years and two decades of being dogged by a stubborn, headstrong bard to convince Geralt it was okay to express his own emotions and it caused a painful lurch in his chest to realize that Jaskier doesn’t hold himself to the same expectations.

The Witcher would then be pulled out of his musings about Jaskier, brought on by the child crying in the room across the hall, when he heard Julian slide out of bed and quietly leave his room. The first night he had done that instead of just soldiering through his misery was three nights after Yennefer brought him to Kaer Morhen and it had surprised Geralt enough that he got out of bed as well, getting ready to dash after the boy thinking Julian was going to wander off in the night. But instead he listened as the child walked down the hall and stopped a few doors down from his own and knocked gently, his wobbly voice soft in the darkness as he spoke just barely above a whisper, “Ciri?” It had taken a few more attempts of knocking to rouse Geralt’s Child Surprise but once she opened the door and Julian stammered out a whispered request to sleep with her she allowed him into her room and closed the door again. Geralt’s shoulders had relaxed as a tension he didn’t realize he was holding eased with the knowledge that Julian was starting to trust them, just a little bit, and Ciri was leading the efforts. It made sense, in hindsight, that the boy would trust her first as she was the closest to him in age and the only other person not an adult. 

Geralt had returned to bed and the next night when he listened to Julian’s stifled sobs abate he was comforted as he heard the child go to Ciri’s room again. It made his chest tight if he thought too hard about how Julian, still his bard even if he’s cursed, didn’t trust Geralt to hardly speak with him let alone come to him to find comfort but the Witcher would deliberately move past that thought and focus instead on other things. Like how Julian was fascinated with watching Geralt and Ciri train every day, mirroring them to teach himself the same maneuvers as he brandished a dagger that he stashes in the pack he refuses to let anyone touch. Geralt knows Jaskier has knowledge of sword fighting, and can be quite competent at it as well as he’s sparred with his bard after long days to relieve stress and Jaskier’s able to keep up with him for a surprisingly long time with the short sword that he carries on his hip when he thinks they’re passing through dangerous territory. At one point Jaskier had confided, after Geralt expressed annoyance in the fact that Jaskier has this knowledge and yet Geralt remains the one who does the bulk of the fighting, that he doesn’t dislike swords or sparring but he dislikes killing or injuring others outside of necessity and even then it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Geralt had gained a new sense of respect for the bard after that and it wasn’t long after that he recognized himself falling in love, which had  _ terrified _ the Witcher and he made rash decisions that lead to driving Jaskier away.

Julian’s distrust of Geralt didn’t mean he never spoke to the Witcher, as evidenced by their conversation in the baths, it was just an uncommon occurrence in those first two weeks. In the beginning, Julian wouldn’t speak to anyone other than Ciri and sometimes Yennefer unless spoken to, small discussions were dragged out of him as stubborn as a cat being bathed. Slowly, however, Julian started talking to Geralt. A question here or there about whatever Geralt was doing before he fell silent once more to listen to the answer, eventually getting confident enough to ask more than one question at a time and it warmed Geralt to know that Jaskier was just as curious about everything as a kid as he is an adult. Julian even shadowed Geralt once or twice while Geralt took care of the horses, the child perched on a barrel in the stables as he watched Geralt muck the stalls and brush down their steeds. When he told the others about this, Ciri had indulged him with the knowledge that Julian frequently spent time in the stables with the horses when he wanted to be alone and when she spied on him once she caught him whispering to Roach as he passed her sugar cubes that he had filched from the pantry. The parallel to Jaskier was so uncanny it made Geralt’s heart swell and a smile danced upon his lips at the thought of Julian pampering his horse on the daily. Geralt was making his own steady progress towards earning Julian’s trust and he was comforted in every success he notes. He still carried a certain weight upon his thin shoulders though, every look he gave Geralt filled with something the Witcher couldn’t read or understand but he had the sinking suspicion that the boy had regained some of his memories and they may not have been the nicest ones of Geralt.

Then Julian had screamed about his lack of worth and simple desire to just be  _ wanted _ and every word carried a double meaning that cut deeper than any sword and shattered Geralt’s heart all over again. The rage and despair that had rolled off the boy as he wailed had confirmed Geralt’s suspicions and with sorrowful eyes Geralt had quietly apologized for Julian feeling the way that he did and offered a hug. He didn’t expect the boy to so much as look at him, let alone throw himself into Geralt’s arms the way that he did, and Geralt was powerless against the need to comfort this child, his bard, his  _ Jaskier _ as he tucked him close and rocked him until his heart wrenching sobs subsided to sniffles which eventually gave way to soft snores as he fell asleep in Geralt’s arms.

That night when Julian got up after crying from his nightmares he had shuffled across the hall and knocked on Geralt’s door instead, his tiny voice crooning through the door to try and rouse the already awake Witcher in search of comfort and Geralt let him crawl into his bed and curl up against his chest without a second thought. From then on, Geralt became one of the people Julian trusted and the child changed almost overnight.

When he wasn’t playing with Ciri he was following Geralt around and asking him question after question after question. He still never argued or did anything that he thought might anger the Witcher but Geralt found himself being engaged in conversations with the boy or just listening as Julian occasionally chattered about whatever he was thinking about that day while he helped Geralt do chores. Geralt learned that Julian likes fixing things and loves horses, especially Roach, that his favorite games are pirate and tag, that he enjoys puzzles but not riddles because they make his head hurt, and that Yennefer is too hard to remember so the boy calls her Yenna. Even though Geralt never sees Julian with Yennefer, he gets the feeling that the child has a different kind of trust in the sorceress, a more maternal one than a friendly one like what he harbors for Geralt and Ciri. One night, after Julian had come to his room, Geralt asked him why he didn't go to Yennefer after a nightmare and Julian had stated simply, “she’s busy.” When Geralt asked Yen about this the sorceress had expressed confusion and said she never turned Julian away whenever the boy seeks her out so she wasn’t sure where he got that idea.

Things were steadily improving and Julian was even starting to trust Vesemir, for whom the boy hosted the most distrust and Yennefer theorizes it’s because he’s the most authoritative figure in the keep, when Eskel arrived for winter and everything went to shit. Julian instantly disliked the quiet Witcher and deeply distrusted him and when Geralt and Ciri both tried to defend Eskel to the boy he had gotten angry and lashed out at them, telling them that he hates it here and he wants to go back to the forest to be alone again because getting eaten by a bear would be better than this. Poor Eskel, despite being brought up to speed on the situation the same night he arrived, didn’t fully understand and had tried to seek out Julian to make amends for whatever it was that made Julian dislike him so thoroughly. This sealed Eskel’s fate as he unwittingly cornered the boy in his hiding spot behind the ice box and Julian had a panic attack, lashing out at Eskel with his dagger when Eskel reached for him and cutting a deep gouge across Eskel’s hand. The shock more than the pain made him recoil and Julian had dove through Eskel’s legs and sprinted out of the kitchen, disappearing into the halls for hours until Yennefer found him under his bed in his room, the bloodied dagger still clutched in his hand. She told them later it took her another hour to coax him out from under the bed and Eskel kept apologizing and fiddling with the bandage on his hand until she snapped at him that if he was truly sorry then he should avoid Julian for the time being until Julian approaches him first.

Geralt listened to Julian sob that night as nightmare after nightmare woke the boy but the child remained in his room, refusing to seek comfort from either Geralt or Ciri and the evidence of Julian’s waning trust in them made Geralt’s eyes burn and a few tears of his own drip down his face into his pillow.

Even with the huge setback of Eskel’s arrival and subsequent conflict, Julian only harbored his anger at Ciri for a day before he was spending time with her again, his need for socialization outweighing his upset. It was a few more days after that until he was willing to talk to Geralt again and it took Geralt nearly a week to earn Julian’s trust once more to the point where the boy would come to him when in need again, his little fist knocking gently on Geralt’s door in the middle of the night once more. Everything was slowly getting back to normal save for Julian avoiding Eskel like the plague and it makes Geralt dread the impending arrival of Lambert. If Julian distrusts someone as put together and gentle as Eskel, there’s no way the child is going to trust someone as loud and brash and unfiltered as Lambert.

And five weeks after Julian’s been brought to the keep, five weeks of fruitless searching and painstaking work to earn the boy’s trust, Lambert arrives.

The air is sharp and cold as only winter can make it, each inhale biting at their throats and the icy wind snaps at their noses and cheeks. Snow has yet to fall, the sky a clear azure overhead with nary a cloud to mar its frozen perfection, but Geralt can taste the building pressure in the air as a storm brews just beyond the horizon. The first blizzard of winter won’t be long now, maybe four days out. He’s mucking the stalls for the evening so he can brush down the horses that are currently turned out to pasture before he beds them and he can hear Julian and Ciri playing nearby, Julian pretending to be a pirate captain and Ciri is his first mate as the two of them explore the “carry-bean” by sailing around the courtyard on a small wheeled cart that they push with sticks. Geralt is so caught up in listening to them laugh while also paying attention to the horses that he doesn’t hear the approaching hoofbeats of another steed at the gates, only perking up in alarm when he hears heavy boots hit the ground as the rider dismounts. Geralt frowns as he starts towards the stable doors to see who’s arrived when he hears a delighted shout:

“LAMBERT!”

“Kid!” Lambert’s gruff voice sounds surprised and there’s a soft grunt from the younger Witcher as a body collides with him, “you’ve barely grown a bit! What’re they feeding you, huh? Mud and worms I’d bet.”

Geralt emerges from the stables and stops dead in his tracks in shock at the sight of Julian climbing up Lambert like a tree to perch himself on Lambert’s shoulders, bending over to look into Lambert’s eyes as he gleefully shakes his head and starts talking a mile-a-minute, “Nuh-uh! Mumma and Father butchered the hog that got killed by your griffin and we’d had salted pork for months! And then there's a lotta porridge here which is gross since I don’t like porridge but with blueberries it’s okay but there’s no blueberries here either, Lambert so I just gotta eat plain porridge which is disgusting but there’s no other breakfast. But it’s okay ‘cuz we have sandwiches for lunch and I love sandwiches! Do you remember the sandwich I made for you? You said it was the best one you ever had, was that true? Or were you just lying to make me feel better because I’m a little kid? Or were you telling the truth because I’m your best kid friend? I can make you another sandwich if you want, but we’re having dinner soon and Yenna’s making it tonight since she’s here and not off doing business otherwise it’s usually Geralt or Vesemir making dinner but sometimes Ciri does and I’ll help them but they don’t like me being in there with them ‘cuz they think I’ll get hurt but I’m good at cooking, you remember, right? I helped Marie all the time with cooking since she didn’t have anybody to help her and-”

“Take a breath, kid!” Lambert laughs and flips Julian over his head into his arms and Julian screams in delight, laughing and kicking his legs as he tries to twist in Lambert’s grip to crawl up him again, “I gotta put Keiden away, why don’t you help me out? Can you do that?”

“Yeah! What do you need me to do, Lambert? I can brush Keiden down or carry your bags or clean your swords like you showed me or-”

“Can you take my bags to my room?” Lambert interrupts him before Julian can start listing all the ways he can help and Julian nods eagerly so Lambert sets him down and unties his saddlebags from his horse, carefully handing them to Julian. Ciri has made her way to Geralt’s side and is watching this interaction with as much shock as he is, her head tilted slightly in curiosity as Julian starts chattering again while Lambert happily goes through his bags and tells Julian where to put things.

“Did you know that Lambert knew Jaskier?” Ciri asks Geralt, glancing over at him. Geralt tears his eyes away from Lambert and Julian to look at Ciri with wide eyes, still reeling over the fact that Lambert and Jaskier are not only acquainted but that Julian trusts Lambert enough to touch him and talk more in two minutes to him than he did to Geralt the entire first fortnight he had been at Kaer Morhen.

“No, neither of them ever said anything to me.”

Julian runs off with the saddlebags slung over his shoulders alongside his own pack and Lambert leads his steed towards the stables, calling out to them and Geralt turns his attention back to his younger brother, “Hey, Geralt? I don’t mean to pry but why the fuck is there a kid here who’s supposed to be in his forties?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not give permission for my work to be shared or reposted to any other website other than as a weblink to this Archive of Our Own URL with credit given to me.


	8. They Said You're Gonna Kill Crowners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He craned his neck back to look up at the Witcher whose stern expression softened when he saw Julian and he had crouched down with a gentle smile, extending his big and scarred hand as he said, “My name’s Lambert, what’s yours, kid?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who gets two chapters this week because I'm vacationing with a friend in the mountains where we have nothing to do all day? You do!

The heels of Julian’s boots  _ tap tap tap _ quickly across the stone floors as he hurries through the halls of the keep, his back bowed gently beneath the heavy weights of Lambert’s saddle bags that hang from his thin shoulders. A broad grin stretches his lips and his cheeks are starting to ache from the strain of holding his expression of giddy joy in place after so much time spent frowning but Julian finds himself relishing the dull pain of his smile and the cool air on his cheeks as he breaks into a sprint. He flies up the stairs to the living quarters and to the room that he knows belongs to the Witcher he’s been buzzing to see ever since Ciri mentioned that he winters here in Kaer Morhen during her tour. 

Julian throws open Lambert’s bedroom door, catching it with his foot so it doesn’t bang against the wall as he drops the bags on the ground and tosses the flaps open to put the items inside away just like Lambert told him to. With gentle hands that shake slightly from his slipping self control, Julian pulls out first the daggers and silver chain to set by the unlit hearth so he can clean them for Lambert later. He then removes Lambert’s dirty clothes and piles them by the door to take down to the laundry, the few travel rations remaining to take to the kitchen, and Lambert’s notebook and quill and inkpot which he sets on the desk in the corner of the room.

Reverently, Julian removes the box of Witcher potions. He listens as the vials jingle and clink inside the wooden vessel and he glances at the door before unlatching the box and cracking the lid open to take a peek. He bites his lip and trembles with excitement as he looks at the different colors that shift this way and that as he tilts the box, the liquids shining dully even without light reflecting on them. As much as Julian wants to take one of the potions to add to his collection, he could never steal from Lambert so he carefully closes and latches the box again to set it delicately on Lambert’s bedside table before tucking the empty saddle bags into the trunk at the end of Lambert’s bed.

Julian then climbs up onto the bed to open the curtains of the window so that cold sunlight will air the dusty room out a bit before jumping back down and gathering up the laundry in his arms, his eyes just barely peering over the stack so he can see where he’s going as he briskly makes his way back downstairs again.

As he passes the Great Hall he hears the adults all gathered and talking in low voices so he slows his gait and steps on the balls of his feet, lifting his heels from the floor so his boots don’t click and he moves silently. Julian peeks through the open door to see Geralt, Vesemir, Yennefer, Ciri, Lambert, and Eskel all sitting in front of the fire on the far side of the hall. They’re too far away from Julian to be able to tell what they’re saying, even with his keen hearing, but he can tell that it’s Eskel speaking from the quietness of his smooth voice and Julian scowls instinctively.

He wishes that Lambert and Eskel weren’t brothers. That they wouldn’t talk to each other, that Lambert wouldn’t listen to what Eskel had to say to him. He knows he’s being silly, that he’s supposed to trust the adults that are looking after him, but he can’t help it. Eskel’s too quiet, too calm, too passive, too polite. He could be nobility with the way he holds himself and talks and acts, the way he wears a mask just like Julian’s mother and father do. Just like Vesemir does. Even Geralt does sometimes and it makes it hard for Julian to trust him.

Lambert never wore a mask around Julian. 

Yennefer never did either, nor Ciri for that matter. They didn’t hide themselves from him, but they didn’t hide what they wanted from him or who they wanted him to be. 

Yennefer wants a son, good or bad, so Julian pretends she’s his mother and is a good boy and it makes her happy with him. Ciri wants a brother and a friend so Julian plays with her and tries so very hard to keep his sparking temper under control and he thinks he does well enough that Ciri is happy with him.

When Julian first met Lambert, still living with his mother and father and having to be  _ good _ all the time, it had been shocking. He’d never seen someone talk loud to his parents and not get told to be quiet. He’d never seen someone say bad words and not be taken out to the barn for punishment. He’d never seen someone talk back when something displeased them and his parents didn’t so much as raise their voices at Lambert.

Julian had been hiding, having listened as the servants spoke of the Lord and Lady requiring a Witcher to deal with the drowners on their coast. The servants always chattered and gossiped in front of Julian because they knew he wouldn’t say anything to anyone, he was too quiet, and when you’re a quiet child you get to hear a lot more than if you’re a loud child. 

He’d never seen a Witcher before so when he heard that one had arrived in Lettenhove he’d snuck away from his tutor by putting just a little belladonna in his tutor’s tea, just enough to put the mathematics teacher to sleep, and creeping to the walkway that lined the dining hall where his parents met with the Witcher.

Truth be told, Julian had been underwhelmed.

The Witcher looked exceedingly  _ normal _ . He looked boring and plain other than being tall and big and having swords on his back. Sure his golden eyes with cat-like pupils were cool but other than that the Witcher just looked a lot like a blacksmith in Julian’s five-year-old opinion.

What was the most unusual thing he saw, aside from the Witcher being able to say what he wanted and speak how he wanted with no repercussions from Julian’s parents, was that the Lord and Lady of Lettenhove looked… well… 

Scared.

Julian’s parents looked about as scared of the Witcher as Julian was of them. He had gasped a little in surprise when he realized this, for despite being an exceedingly bright boy academically he was still barely more than a toddler and had little control over his reactions, and the Witcher had looked up to the walkway and the balustrade Julian was peering through to make eye contact with the boy. 

And he  _ winked _ .

Julian had jumped up and silently rushed off, his face flaming with embarrassment at being caught eavesdropping as he sprinted back to the drawing room to wait for his tutor to wake up again and pretend like nothing had happened. But his mind had lingered on the Witcher and that night, long after everyone had gone to bed and he had stopped crying like he did every night, he had crept out of bed and down the hall to the bedroom that he knew was housing their mutant houseguest. Julian stopped in front of the door and hesitated, shifting his weight back and forth as he worried the hem of his sleep shirt in his small hands while he debated about knocking, but the choice was taken from him when the door swung open anyway and the Witcher stood right in front of him.

He craned his neck back to look up at the Witcher whose stern expression softened when he saw Julian and he had crouched down with a gentle smile, extending his big and scarred hand as he said,  _ “My name’s Lambert, what’s yours, kid?” _

_ “Julian,” _ he had whispered and sucked his bottom lip into his mouth as he shyly tucked his much smaller hand into Lambert’s to shake politely. 

_ “It’s a little late for kids your age to be up still, Julian,” _ Lambert had grinned at him, not looking at all mad about the five-year-old being at his door at midnight,  _ “What can I do for you?” _

Julian had looked up at Lambert and for once he didn’t feel scared to ask questions, he wasn’t afraid to talk. Lambert had invited Julian to talk to him, had asked  _ Julian _ what  _ Lambert _ could do for  _ him _ .  _ “They said you’re gonna kill crowners. What’s that mean?” _

Lambert had laughed and stood up again, moving back to allow Julian into his room,  _ “They’re  _ drowners _ and I’ll tell you but we don’t wanna wake anybody so why don’t you come in?” _

Julian briefly felt a spike of apprehension but Lambert wasn’t like Father, was so very different from all the adults that Julian was used to, that he decided it was safe. What was it his father liked to say? The enemy of my enemy is my friend? Well if Julian’s parents were afraid of Lambert, and Julian’s afraid of his parents, then he should be friends with Lambert. That logic checked out so Julian had entered Lambert’s room and asked him questions all night long about the monsters he hunted and Lambert never once told him to be quiet.

Julian creeps away from the Great Hall to go put the laundry with the wash before going back to Lambert’s room to oh so carefully clean and sharpen Lambert’s daggers, leaving the adults alone to talk like he knows they want to be. 

It’s annoying as  _ hell _ , and it’s okay for him to think that because he’s just thinking it’s not like he said a bad word out loud, that the adults try to hide their adult conversations from him. They send him off to do chores or something and then all get together to talk until he’s done and it’s irritating! Julian huffs angrily as he rubs the rag for polishing silver harder over Lambert’s silver dagger. He wishes they would just ask him if he minded if they talked alone. He would say, oh of course not, thank you for letting me know! But instead he feels like they’re sneaking around behind his back.

He doesn’t blame Lambert, of course, he’s just gotten here. He’s not sure who he blames, really. Maybe it’s his own fault. It probably is. He’s probably done something wrong and they’re discussing how best to punish him for misbehaving. But Julian can’t figure out what he could have done that was against the rules. No one ever found out about him going into the broken part of the keep, and he hasn’t gone anywhere near there since then. He doesn’t even explore out of fear of finding another secretly forbidden place and Julian loves to explore!

His anger gives way to anxiety which changes to fear and then slowly morphs back to anger again. He was so happy to see Lambert and he’s happy to be helping Lambert right now, truly he is, but he wants to talk and play some more with his best friend. 

“Maybe I’m too selfish,” Julian mumbles with a scowl, pressing harder on the rag as his fury grows, “I’m too darn-  _ damn _ selfish. I don’t think I am though! I’m a good boy who helps people and cleans up after me and I’m everything everyone wants! I’m a good son for Yenna and I’m a good brother for Ciri and I’m a good student for Vesemir and I’m someone to take care of for Geralt!” He keeps his voice quiet as he whisper-yells so that the adults don’t hear him. If they do they might get upset and Julian doesn’t want to upset them, he’s just upset himself. 

“What more do they want from me? Is it ‘cause I avoid Eskel? I don’t know what he wants me to be and I can’t tell and he’s scary so how am I supposed to be good for him? I don’t want to be good for Eskel!” Julian polishes faster but his eyes are filling with angry tears and blurring his vision so he can’t hardly see the blade beneath his hands anymore, “I’m barely good enough for Geralt, how’m I supposed to be good enough for someone I don’t even  _ want _ to be good for? It’s like I barely exist, they all look at me like I should be someone else and that’s… that’s just… well that’s not  _ fair _ !” The rag slips off of the blade and he gasps in surprise as the edge of the blade cuts easily through the meat of his palm, diagonally across his thumb. 

He has a brief moment of shock where he thinks he should probably hide this so Lambert will still let him clean his blades because it was an accident but then he turns his hand over and he can see white bone before the blood covers it and runs down his arm and Julian’s mouth opens and he  _ screams _ .

Julian screams and he drops the dagger to the ground as he starts sobbing, clutching his wrist with his other hand and he continues to scream and sob in terror and pain and he hears footsteps pounding up the stairs before the door slams open and Geralt runs in followed closely behind by Lambert. Julian turns to them and holds out his bleeding hand as he wails loudly in distress so Geralt scoops him up into his arms with a hard expression, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and pressing it against Julian’s hand to slow the blood flow.

“Really, Lambert? You let a child clean your blades?” Geralt snarls as they march quickly to the infirmary and Julian’s still loudly crying and he wants to defend Lambert but he can barely take a big enough breath to sob let alone talk.

Lambert looks worried as he follows a step behind so he’s within Julian’s sight, “He’s done it a dozen times before, usually I’m watching though. I didn’t tell him to clean them, just to put them by the fireplace to be cleaned later. Kid, are you okay?”

Julian shakes his head with a loud sob and Geralt cringes slightly from the sound being so close to his sensitive ear and Julian feels a little bad about that but he can’t help it his hand hurts so much and he saw the bone and he’s so scared right now.

“Of course he’s not okay, he’s nearly cut his fingers off!”

“I  _ have _ ?!” Julian wails, finding his tongue again amidst his distress, “I don't wa-wanna lose my fingers!”

“You’re not gonna, kid,” Lambert reaches out to ruffles Julian’s hair gently, trying to give him a reassuring grin, “Geralt’s just being an ass because he’s scared.”

“ _I’m_ scared!”

Geralt’s arm tightens around Julian when he sobs that out and Lambert’s grin becomes more forced, his golden eyes tight with concern, “I know you are, kid, but you’re so strong and brave. You’re a big kid, right? You’re gonna be okay.”

Julian’s face feels hot and he knows there’s snot running out of his nose but he doesn’t care right now as he buries his face in Geralt’s neck and closes his eyes tightly, “It  _ hurts _ ! It was an accident I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Lambert! It hurts!”

“We’re almost there, Julian,” Geralt murmurs as he pulls open the door to the infirmary, “I’m gonna clean your hand so I can see the damage, okay?” Geralt starts to put Julian down and the boy clings tighter, wrapping his good arm around Geralt’s neck, “Julian, I need to look at your hand. I’m better at medicine than Lambert so can he hold you while I look?”

Julian’s still sobbing but he lifts his head and nods, letting go of Geralt and allowing himself to be passed into Lambert’s arms. Lambert sits down on the raised cot and settles Julian in his lap while Geralt gathers the necessary herbs and supplies to clean and stitch the wound and Julian hides his face against Lambert’s broad chest, “I’m sorry, Lambert! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to! I thought- I thought I’d be helpful and you- you- you’d be happy if your daggers were already clean since you’ve been t-t-traveling and I thought you might be- be tired so if I did it for you it would make you ha-ha-happy!” 

“Hey, hey, kid, Julian, it’s okay,” Lambert frowns and rubs Julian’s back as the boy cries and Geralt pulls up a chair, setting his supplies on the cot next to Lambert, “You said it was an accident, right? I believe you. Accidents happen, I appreciate you trying to help me. Means a lot to me, kid.”

“Julian, can you give me your hand?” Geralt holds his hand out with a clean rag in his palm and a small pitcher of water in his other hand, “I need to clean it up so I can see how bad the cut is.”

Julian shakes his head, his sobs having quieted to pained whimpers and sniffles, “I s-saw my b-bones!”

Geralt’s frown deepens and he opens his mouth to speak but Lambert cuts him off, “Woah, no way! Can I see your bones, too?”

Julian looks up at Lambert with teary eyes, “Is it cool?”

“Lambert…”

Lambert ignores Geralt as he nods to Julian, “So cool. I’ve seen my own bones so many times it’s boring now, I wanna see yours! But I can’t if you don’t let Geralt clean the wound.”

“Is it gonna hurt?”

“A little bit. But you remember when you told me you fell out of a tree and broke your wrist? It’ll hurt less than breaking your wrist.”

Julian sniffles and turns his wet blue eyes on Geralt before biting his lip and nodding, “Okay, but you gotta let Lambert see my bones. I guess it was… kinda cool.” 

Geralt glances at Lambert before nodding and once Julian settles his bloodied hand on the rag he gently pours the cool water over it, washing away the blood staining his pale skin. 

“Ow! Ow, ow, ow, ow!” Julian yells and starts to cry again so Lambert runs his hand through Julian’s dark curls to calm him down.

“You’re doing so good, kid,” he reassures Julian, “You’re being so brave right now.”

“I’m a-always brave, fucker!” Julian shouts which startles a laugh out of both of the Witchers and in turn makes Julian calm down enough to give a watery giggle, “C-can Lambert see my bones now?”

Geralt looks up at them and nods reluctantly, displeased by the subject as Julian pulls his hand back to show Lambert but averting his eyes himself.

“Oh, gross!” Lambert exclaims and Julian giggles some more, “I can see your bones! Put them away! They gotta stay  _ in _ your hand, kid!”

“O- _ kay _ !” Julian gives his hand back to Geralt easily now who looks surprised by how quickly Lambert’s gotten the boy to calm down and relax entirely about the injury.

“Julian, I’ve got something for you to drink so it doesn’t hurt when I stitch your hand, okay?” Geralt says hesitantly and Julian glances up at Lambert who gives him a reassuring smile so he nods and the older Witcher hands Julian a cup of water laced with poppy milk, “I need you to drink all of that.”

Julian sips it and wrinkles his nose at the bitter flavor, “It tastes funny.”

“I know, but I need you to drink it all, please.”

He slowly drinks the entire cup of water before handing it back and laying his head back against Lambert’s chest, his eyelids drooping as he relaxes, “Wha’ was tha’?”

“Poppy milk,” Lambert explains quietly, “It’s for pain. It’ll make you sleepy so it’s okay to take a nap, alright? I’ll be right here when you wake up, I promise.”

“Ya swear?” Julian lets his head loll back to look up at Lambert, finding it hard to focus his tired eyes.

“I swear. I’m not going anywhere, kid.”

Julian hums softly before using the last of his waning strength to look at Geralt, “G’ralt, too?”

Geralt looks up from Julian’s hand in surprise before his expression softens into something extremely fond, the corners of his lips tugging up slightly as Julian’s eyes slide shut and just as he’s falling asleep he hears Geralt quietly say, “I swear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not give permission for my work to be shared or reposted to any other website other than as a weblink to this Archive of Our Own URL with credit given to me.


	9. Lambert's Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lambert takes a while to gather his thoughts before beginning the story, “Must have been something like forty years ago now. Maybe a bit more, I dunno. Kid was five when I met him though. I was headed along the coast after winter, following the Path there on my way to Gorther Gvaed like I do every year to visit Aiden and travel with him for a bit. Passed through a province called Lettenhove in Kerack that was requesting a Witcher to take care of a drowner infestation on their coastline. The contract was a decent amount of coin so I met with the viscount and viscountess about it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in reading a Role Reversal AU, please check out my newest fic [The Fiddler's Wolf](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24535393)

When the piercing scream had rung out through the keep, interrupting the conversation held between the Witchers, a princess, and herself before the warm fire, all of them had jumped to their feet in alarm. Yennefer had summoned her chaos instinctively while Ciri unsheathed a dagger from her boot and Geralt barked out for them to stay there before dashing off with Lambert hot on his heels. They had just been wrapping up filling in their newest winter companion on the Jaskier situation so it surprised the sorceress to see him follow the sound of distress just as fervently as Geralt.

Her confusion must show on her face as she sits down again as Ciri glances at her and sighs softly, “Lambert and Jaskier know each other.”

“They know each other?” She questions, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow at the princess, “What do you mean?”

“I mean they’re familiar. Julian was  _ excited _ to see him when he arrived earlier and we were in the courtyard. Called him his best friend and climbed up him without hesitation,” Ciri shrugs slightly, her lips pressed together tightly and an almost jealous expression on her face. She’s worked hard to earn Julian’s trust and Lambert just showed up with it already in his pocket.

Yennefer turns to Vesemir, cocking her head gently in amusement, “Did you know about this?”

“Nope,” the elder Witcher shakes his head and settles back in his chair, picking up his tankard of ale from the table beside him, “Lambert doesn’t speak much on the connections he makes with others on the Path. As loud as he can be and forthcoming with details on hunts, he’s a fairly private man about his personal relations.”

“Except where Aiden is involved,” Eskel remarks dryly and Vesemir grimaces at the mention of the Cat Witcher.

“Indeed.”

“I’ve heard more about Aiden’s cock from Lambert than Jaskier ever waxed poetic about his conquests,” Ciri complains, collapsing against the back of the couch she had been sharing with Geralt, “And I’ve only known Lambert for one winter.”

“Just wait till you’re around with the both of them,” Eskel laughs, pulling one foot up onto the edge of his chair so he can wrap an arm around his knee, “Never seen a man go from brutish to doting so fast.”

“Then you’ve clearly never seen Geralt with Jaskier when they were traveling together,” Yennefer smiles wryly, “Even when we were… together, in the loosest sense possible, Geralt was willing to do just about anything for that bard. Took me a long time to understand why.”

“Why?” Ciri looks over at Yennefer with curiosity shining in her eyes.

Vesemir clears his throat, “When one is in love, whether they realize it or not, the needs of their other become greater than the needs of themself. But love is also blinding and adoration makes you stupid so it becomes difficult to tell what exactly is a  _ need _ versus what is purely just a  _ desire _ .”

“Desires are just as powerful as needs, Vesemir,” Yennefer points out, “By fulfilling desires you can bring joy and satisfaction to those you deem important to you. And to many, including your pups, satisfying their loves is just as powerful a need as breathing.”

“And why might that be, witch?” Eskel raises an eyebrow at her and she narrows her eyes at him to give him a level expression.

“Because without the love of others, platonic or otherwise, your loneliness will eat away your heart and mind until you are little but a shell of a person,” her voice is even but her words ring with a darkness that speaks of experience, “And the best way to maintain the love of another is to care for them and their needs,  _ and _ desires.”

Ciri is quiet as she thinks for a few moments before hesitantly saying, “Is that why Geralt doesn’t let anyone braid his hair? When I asked, he says he’s had it braided before but only one person is allowed to because it’s important to them.”

Vesemir nods, “That’s one example, pup. Geralt’s bard hails from Kerack, where hair braiding is an intimate and integral part of the culture. For quite a few winters he’d show up with his hair falling out of braids he refused to unweave, leaving them to their slow demise and only restyling it once the plaits were truly gone.”

“It’s why Julian’s hair is on the longer side,” Eskel remarks with an expression of dawning realization, “So it’s able to be braided.”

“Any time I ever saw Jaskier his hair was cut short though,” Ciri frowns in confusion, “Why would that be?”

Yennefer turns to her and asks patiently, “What do you know about Kerack, child?”

“Kerack is a small coastal country, originally a territory of Skellige until the revolutionary war of 1202. After gaining its independence, Kerack was left with few resources and was quickly overrun by pirates and criminals,” Ciri recites from memory of textbooks she read during her royal tutelage.

“The people of Kerack are easily identified by long braided hair that’s decorated with beads or flowers or any number of trinkets,” Vesemir adds, “That culture is in part because of the pirates that made their home there. Pirates are crooks, pup, and hated by many. So if you’re a young bard trying to make it on your own and traveling alone for the first time, would you want to be identified as a potential accessory to piracy?”

“It’d make him a target,” Ciri says quietly, sitting up and solemnly placing her hands in her lap, “That just doesn’t seem fair to me. Jaskier can’t practice his own traditions and cultures because of prejudice against him?”

Eskel laughs humorlessly, “Princess, you’re in the heart of folks who can’t practice traditions and cultures because of prejudice. Witchers, Elves, Mages, hell, even bards, Keracki or not.”

“What does that mean?” She frowns at him and Yennefer sighs softly, “I mean I understand about non-humans, doesn’t mean I like it but I can  _ understand _ . But what do you mean bards?”

“I often forget how sheltered you are,” Yennefer murmurs sorrowfully, “No occupation is without its risks, Ciri, always remember that. Geralt is one of many who underestimated the bardic profession, we all did for a very long time.” She looks at Vesemir and Eskel who both turn their eyes away in shame, “It’s not my story to tell but what I  _ can _ tell you is what Jaskier told me. Bards are often seen as little more than whores with pretty voices, and traveling bards even more so.”

Ciri’s frown deepens as she mulls over this new information before her expression darkens, “You mean… people would try to proposition him? Because he’s a bard? Whether he wanted to or not?”

“Humans are cruel,” Eskel says quietly, “And often take what they want, especially when they think the other person is weak.”

“As much as the bard was helping Geralt with his image amongst the people, Geralt learned to help Jaskier with his self worth,” Vesemir adds gently.

“I don’t understand, what does that have to do with anything?”

Yennefer pauses as she tries to figure out how to explain, “Have you noticed that Julian is reluctant to say no to anything we ask of him?” Ciri nods and the sorceress continues, “that behavior continued well into Jaskier’s adult life. Sure he would argue and whine and complain but when pressured he’d cave with little resistance. The only person he really ever stood up to was Geralt, but even then it was just to follow him around.”

“I had suspected it was because he wanted my protection, at first,” Geralt’s voice comes from behind them as he walks back to the group, sitting down slowly beside Ciri, “In addition to writing his stupid song. I still think he wanted that, but it was a subconscious desire of his. If you befriend the biggest guy in the room, the others will leave you alone, right?” Ciri looks at him and nods slowly before glancing over as Lambert sits down in the armchair he had been occupying earlier. He adjusts Julian on his lap who is sleeping deeply against the Witcher's chest, his hand wrapped in white bandages. “Jaskier never asked for much from me. Sure he complained a lot but it was never serious, usually just something for him to pass the time since he didn’t, and still doesn’t, like silence.”

“What happened?” Yennefer decides to change the subject before it can continue into further discussions of non-consent.

“Kid decided to clean my daggers without supervision,” Lambert says gruffly, trying to hide his guilt behind a scowl but his gentle arms around Julian betray him, “Dunno exactly what happened but his hand must have slipped and he cut himself.”

“It was deep but clean,” Geralt adds with a tired sigh, “Easy to stitch and should heal without complications. Probably will barely leave a scar.”

“Not his first one anyway,” Yennefer remarks and both Geralt and Lambert’s expressions darken, “Ciri tells me that you and Jaskier know each other, care to elaborate on that, Lambert?”

Geralt hums and turns his attention onto his brother, “I’d like to know why you never told me you knew him. I’d ask him why he never told me the same but,” Geralt gestures to the fact that Jaskier’s a child and not exactly fit to answer questions meant for his adult counterpart.

Lambert takes a deep breath and heaves a sigh before nodding, “Kid’s out like a light anyway. Poppy milk should keep him under for a while still, right?” Geralt nods and the younger Witcher leans back in his chair, allowing Julian to settle more against him and Yennefer feels a pang of longing for the closeness that they share. 

She had thought that maybe she’d get that chance with her friend being cursed as he is but he trusts her as little as the others. It’s infuriating, really, that the adult he trusts the most is Geralt but it also makes sense since his memories and instincts will be telling him that Geralt is trustworthy. Sure, Julian trusts her more than he trusts Vesemir, and he trusts Eskel about as far as a seven-year-old can throw a Witcher, but it still hurts her in an illogical and annoying way. 

Lambert takes a while to gather his thoughts before beginning the story, “Must have been something like forty years ago now. Maybe a bit more, I dunno. Kid was five when I met him though. I was headed along the coast after winter, following the Path there on my way to Gorther Gvaed like I do every year to visit Aiden and travel with him for a bit. Passed through a province called Lettenhove in Kerack that was requesting a Witcher to take care of a drowner infestation on their coastline. The contract was a decent amount of coin so I met with the viscount and viscountess about it.

“Kids always eavesdrop on shit they shouldn’t, so I wasn’t surprised to see him hiding and listening in as I talked to his folks about the contract. They were real pricks right off the bat, even though they reeked of fear like most humans do they also acted like typical nobility. You know the type.” The other Witchers nod and Ciri does as well, having been well educated at this point about how general nobility treats Witchers. “When I spotted the kid he ran off, figured he was scared of me, too, and I didn’t think about it until later that I didn’t smell any fear from him. Wrote it off and figured I wouldn’t see him again, nobles don’t usually let their kids around us even if I was staying with them for the duration of the contract.

“Round midnight I hear somebody walk up to my door but they don’t knock. They also didn’t leave so I decided to tell them to fuck off but when I opened the door it was the kid. He looked surprised and smelled uncertain and maybe a little anxious but he still wasn’t afraid of me. Figured the least I could do was introduce myself and see what the sprog wanted. Kid was shy at first but just wanted to know a bit about why I was there so I invited him in to chat and once he got talking, boy, could he talk. He asked me just about everything he could think of about drowners.

“I didn’t think much about it but when I invited him into my room there had been a moment where the smell of anxiety came back. At the time, I assumed it was because I was still a relative stranger,” Lambert purses his lips together tightly now that he knows the real reason for it, “I sent him back to bed after a couple hours and he thanked me all polite like I was fucking royalty or some shit, threw me for a loop, but I figured that was the end of it. I spent the next day talking to witnesses and gathering information about the contract, dined with the nobility and didn’t see the kid until around midnight again when he knocked on my door.

“Every night I was in Lettenhove for that contract, Julian came by to chat with me for a few hours. It was real weird but also kinda comforting to have someone who wasn’t afraid of me willingly seeking me out just to ask questions about monsters and my job. Kid made me feel like a damn hero. When I finished the contract I got the coin, got stiffed of course because those noble shits didn’t wanna pay me the agreed upon amount, so I was pretty pissed as I was heading out. Heard my name being called so I stopped my horse to look back and saw Julian running down the front steps being chased by a tutor or something, I dunno. He ran up to me and grabbed my boot so I’d bend down until he could reach my hand and pushed another little pouch of coin into it. 

“Told me it was his own that he’d been saving but he heard his parents didn’t pay me the full amount which wasn’t fair so he was paying me the rest. I tried to give it back to him but he refused it and then his tutor grabbed him and hurried back inside. He shouted goodbye and waved to me so I waved back and left. Met up with Aiden a week later and forgot all about it until the next fall when I was making my way back up the coast and passed through Lettenhove again.

“There was another contract, this time for a selkiemore which I wasn’t looking forward to in the slightest but again, paid well so I stopped and met with the nobility. Again, for the duration of the contract I’d stay in the manor and was welcome to dine with them. I usually avoided taking my meals with them because it was awkward as hell to try to eat while the room reeked of fear so I decided to just get some rest. First evening there was a knock and when I opened the door, Julian was there with a plate of food which he practically shoved into my hands before he ran away. He wasn’t scared of me or anything, little shit was smiling when he saw me, so I figured he probably had someplace else to be. I figured I’d see him that night though like I had before.

“I barely saw the kid at all during that second visit. He didn’t come by my room at night even once but he’d bring me dinner if I was around. Didn’t stick around long enough to talk though so I figured he’d gotten all he wanted during my first visit. Got stiffed again on coin but got caught by the kid in the stables this time. He smelled like anxiety and was real nervous but insistent that I get paid the full amount so he gave me the extra coin, didn’t tell me where he got it from that time and wouldn’t answer when I asked him. Just said goodbye and ran back to the house.

“Next year was the same. Passed through Lettenhove on my way to Gorther Gvaed, took a contract, stayed with the viscount. Kid brought me dinner and came to my room in the middle of the night to chat up a storm. It was like… like he had had to hold all his words in all the time so when I came around he could let them all out and would just talk and talk for hours the first night. The other nights it was more of a conversation and he started acting like an actual kid around me, laughing and rough-housing and all that shit. Finished the contract, got stiffed on coin, kid didn’t see me off that time but I found the extra coin stashed in my bags that time, the sneaky shit. Came through Lettenhove again on my way back to Kaer Morhen and it was even better, he warmed up even faster.

“Kept like that for a few years until he was, dunno eight or nine? Then he started sneaking out of the house to join me in town. Told me he’d already been doing it for ages but didn’t want to be seen with me in case the townsfolk figured out who he was and he got in trouble. I asked him how he’d sneak away and he told me he was putting his tutors to sleep with belladonna, had been doing that since he was five. I asked him how the fuck he knew how to do that and he shrugged and said one of the most fucked up things I’ve ever heard. ‘My father’s been doing it to me for ages’.” Lambert’s expression darkens, “I asked what he meant by that but he waved it off like it was no big deal and changed the subject.”

Yennefer’s jaw tightens as she remembers Julian mentioning that ‘real men have sex at bedtime’. Belladonna is a muscle relaxant when used in small enough amounts.

“I had to keep a close eye on him in town because if I looked away for too long he’d pick fights with other kids. He was angry a lot but I never saw that until I saw him getting into those fights, he was real good at hiding his emotions from me, from everyone really. I dunno what happened but I think someone figured out he was sneaking out of the house because I didn’t see him for the rest of the contract until the last day when I was stiffed on coin like usual. I had left my bags in my room this time because I collected my coin before bathing since it was another selkiemore and when I got to my room Julian was sitting on the edge of the bed with the bag of the rest of the coin in hand. Kid looked up and I swear I’ve never seen red so fast.

“His face was beat to shit,” Lambert’s expression twists into an angry scowl that’s echoed on Geralt’s face, “Fuckin’ black eye, split lip, broken nose. There were cuts that were obviously from rings and bruises on this kid’s throat like he’d been strangled. I asked him what the fuck happened and he just shook his head and handed me the coin before hugging me and quietly leaving. Probably hurt him too much to talk.

“After that I started paying attention. Like real close attention. Thought about how he only came to see me at night or when others wouldn’t see him. He only talked if there weren’t other people around. The few times I saw him with his folks he smelled just as fearful as they did but it took me a long time, too long a time, to figure out that he was scared of  _ them _ . I never found out exactly what they would do to him, I had guesses but whenever I tried to talk to him about it he’d change the subject or laugh it off. I only saw his injuries that one time but I had a feeling he was just good at hiding them from me.”

“Why didn’t you do something about it?” Geralt asks angrily, his hands gripping the fabric of his pants so tightly that his knuckles have gone white.

Lambert shakes his head, “I was gonna. I was gonna try to get him out, take him to a-a healer or find somebody better to take care of him. But by the time I figured out what was happening and had gotten a plan together they shipped him off to temple school when he was eleven. Didn’t see or hear anything from the kid again for years until I arrived to Gorther Gvaed to meet up with Aiden and he had a letter waiting for me. Kid was probably fourteen or fifteen at this point and had written me to thank me for allowing him my company and to tell me he had run away to Oxenfurt to become a bard and how to find him if I had any desire to get in contact with him.

“I wrote him back telling him I was relieved he was okay and asked how he got the money to pay for a university like that since I assumed he probably wasn’t being supported by his parents anymore. He never did tell me how he was paying for it, but I have my suspicions,” Lambert presses his lips together, “He was very familiar with the employees of one of the brothels, let’s just leave it at that. I visited him in Oxenfurt a couple times but we mostly just kept in touch over letters. He’d send his to Gorther Gvaed for me to pick up and I’d send mine to Oxenfurt. Twice a year, like clockwork. Just checking in to make sure the other was alive still, telling the occasional story but never spending the time to really catch up.

“I ran into him once while on the Path with Aiden, he was in his thirties at the time so he must have been traveling with you still, Geralt,” Lambert looks at his brother who glances away with an unreadable expression. Lambert’s gaze softens slightly and he smiles a bit, “He grew up into a handsome lad. I gotta give it to you, White Wolf, you sure know how to pick them. He was happier than I’d ever seen him, said he was traveling with his best friend and we swapped a few stories. He never said anything that let slip he was traveling with you, and I never knew him as Jaskier, just Julian. That’s why I never told you I knew him. I genuinely had no idea he was your bard.”

“I never mentioned any of you by name to him either,” Geralt murmurs, “Just said that other Witchers stay here in winter. He may not have made the connection either.”

Yennefer takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, flattening her palms against her knees as she lets the story settle and sink in. It’s like another piece of the puzzle that is Jaskier has revealed itself to her, and it feels important that she has it. With her continued failings in tracking down Emilia Ralt, she’s gotten the sense that the mage in question might not be necessary to break this curse at all. But if the caster isn’t required for the breaking, then what exactly is?

Ciri yawns behind her hand, blinking hard to clear the blurriness from her tired eyes and it snaps everyone out of the somber trance Lambert’s tale had left them in, rustling filling the air as people move to clean up and go to bed. Geralt and Lambert exchange a look and bid everyone else goodnight as the others leave but don’t move themselves, Ciri planting a kiss on Geralt’s temple before she leaves. 

Yennefer stands but she lingers, squinting slightly at the Witchers, “Are you not going to bed?”

“We promised Julian we’d stay with him and be here when he wakes up,” Geralt says quietly, a deep weariness in his voice and eyes as he settles back on the couch. Lambert nods in agreement and shifts the sleeping boy on his lap, Julian murmuring softly before sighing and turning his face into Lambert’s chest.

Yennefer exhales softly and places her hand on Geralt’s shoulder, “I know you miss him, and this is all kinds of fucked up, but we’ll get him back.”

Geralt sighs and looks at Julian with a pained expression, his eyes filled with bitter longing. Not for what Lambert has with the boy, but for what Geralt has lost, what he should have had right now. Yennefer knows that Jaskier was supposed to be staying here for the winter with Geralt, they’d finally,  _ finally _ realized their feelings for each other and Jaskier had forgiven Geralt for the behavior the Witcher had frequently exhibited towards the bard. Geralt had told Yennefer about how he’d been so excited for Jaskier to come and stay, to spend time with his lover and show him everything that Geralt grew up with. 

He had been excited to give Jaskier the chance to be more wild, to let loose on his more feral instincts that Jaskier locks away so frequently since they’re around other people. It had taken Geralt fifteen years to get Jaskier to open up enough to see behind the mask of the cheerful bard, and then another few years to get his friend to be relaxed and comfortable with being wholly himself around Geralt. Yennefer thinks about how happy Geralt had looked as he told her about his surprise and delight when he learned that Jaskier doesn’t actually have an aversion to being dirty or rolling around on the ground, having discovered that when he irritated the bard enough to make the man abandon his precious words and launch himself at Geralt, he just likes to clean up afterwards. 

The expression of fond adoration Geralt had worn as he remarked about all the little things Jaskier had been hiding behind this rigid front of propriety, and how much more relaxed Jaskier became when they spent longer and longer away from people between towns even if it meant forgoing soft beds and warm baths. It was a look that she never saw Geralt wear when they were together, even with the Djinn wish binding them and making her think she had been in love with him and he with her. It was how she knew, years before either he or Jaskier did, that they were in love with each other.

“What if we can’t?” Geralt asks quietly, “You said he’d  _ die _ , Yenn.”

“We will,” she says firmly, squeezing his shoulder, “If it’s the very last thing I do, we’ll get him back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not give permission for my work to be shared or reposted to any other website other than as a weblink to this Archive of Our Own URL with credit given to me.


	10. Playing with Fire and Screams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After he had awoken from the poppy milk, Julian had been quiet and refused to part from Lambert’s side. But the moment Geralt left the room the boy started happily chattering about everything that had happened to him since the last time he remembered seeing Lambert, so Geralt had lingered outside the door and listened as Julian told his brother about Lettenhove and how his family had visited the coast. That was the first time he had faintly wished Lambert hadn’t come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **PLEASE READ AND HEED THE FOLLOWING CONTENT WARNING:**
> 
> This chapter deals heavily and poorly with extreme child abuse. Explicit discussion of physical, sexual, and mental child abuse occurs as well as child neglect. Other content warnings include: suicidal ideation, intrusive thoughts, and panic attacks.
> 
> Geralt has a panic attack in the one (1) paragraph following: "Then he goes back to mimicking the Witchers as they spar and practice with their weapons, which Geralt doesn’t think Lambert notices until he walks outside early in the morning, a week after Lambert’s return to the keep, to muck the stables and sees them on the training field."
> 
> All discussion of child abuse, suicidal ideation, and intrusive thoughts occur after Geralt asks, "Do you remember how you told Yennefer you have scary thoughts? What did you mean by that?" These potential triggers last until "'Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” Julian wails, pushing his hands over his ears, “I don’t wanna play anymore! I hate this game! Stop talking!'"
> 
> If any of the aforementioned themes could be harmful to you, please go to the end notes for a summary of the triggering events.
> 
> (Yes, this is another double update week, I had a lot of time to write again)

It’s been a week since Lambert’s arrival and subsequent reunion with Julian, but by day three Geralt had found himself idly wishing his brother hadn’t returned this Winter.

Not out of malice, he didn’t want Lambert  _ dead _ of course. But he’d sometimes catch himself wishing that the youngest wolf had stayed on the Path, perhaps traveling south this year or wintering in the Viper keep that hosts Witchers whose own homes had been sacked, instead of just visiting Gorther Gvaed twice a year to meet up with Aiden. 

He usually found these thoughts dancing through his mind with a bitter emotion tied to them that made his stomach turn and heat rise in his chest. The most puzzling part was that they didn’t occur every time Geralt was around his brother either, there were plenty of times they were together and there were no signs of these unpleasant feelings and negative thoughts. His guilty desires only surfaced when he paid attention to the way Julian interacted with Lambert.

After he had awoken from the poppy milk, Julian had been quiet and refused to part from Lambert’s side. But the moment Geralt left the room the boy started happily chattering about everything that had happened to him since the last time he remembered seeing Lambert, so Geralt had lingered outside the door and listened as Julian told his brother about Lettenhove and how his family had visited the coast. That was the first time he had faintly wished Lambert hadn’t come home.

Julian followed Lambert around as the Witcher unpacked from traveling like a duckling would its mother and the oppressing feeling of general anxiety that had lingered for weeks over the keep had dissipated for the first time since Julian had first arrived. Whenever someone else entered the room Lambert and Julian were in, however, the child would fall silent and that anxious feeling would return, albeit much more muted. Geralt had grit his teeth and ignored the rising heat in his chest as Julian ignored him for his younger brother and unless he caught a glimpse of the boy in passing he didn’t get to see Julian all day.

Julian still came into his room that night after a nightmare though and curled up on Geralt’s chest to fall back asleep, easing the bitter frustrations that were building within him as he listened to the boy’s fast heartbeat and shallow breaths.

Everyday passed the same as the first though, with Julian’s daylight hours spent in Lambert’s company. Ciri tried to ease Geralt’s irritation by reminding him that Julian might be more willing to trust the rest of them sooner and talk to them about what happened in the woods in Temeria with Lambert present. Yennefer just relentlessly teased him about being jealous of his brother receiving all the attention Julian had been giving Geralt previously.

Julian still watches them all train, but he sits quietly at the edge of the field with his legs crossed until his hand has healed enough for him to comfortably hold his dagger again. Then he goes back to mimicking the Witchers as they spar and practice with their weapons, which Geralt doesn’t think Lambert notices until he walks outside early in the morning, a week after Lambert’s return to the keep, to muck the stables and sees them on the training field.

Julian is holding one of the small, wooden swords that’s sized for a boy his age and hasn’t been touched in almost half a century, not since the last group of Witchers were trained before the Trials, while Lambert directs and guides him. Geralt’s heart nearly stops and his blood runs cold as memories of the dull cracking of wooden swords crashing together with sweat in his eyes and blood on his teeth flit through his mind. His hands ache at the memory of fingers that blistered and popped and healed tougher and harder than before with the grip of a sword immortalized on his skin. His throat is burning and a low keening sound fills the cold air of Winter that pulses in and out of his lungs in shallow, spasming breaths at the memories of abandoned and impressionable children being trained to fight monsters and protect humanity as though they weren’t just lambs being led to slaughter.

“-eralt… Geralt!” There’s a hand shaking his shoulder and he jerks away, slapping Lambert’s outstretched arm back and closing his mouth that had fallen open at some point. The keening stops and it’s with trembling embarrassment that Geralt realizes it had been him making that distressed sound as he panicked. 

He blinks and looks at Lambert, whose eyes are pinched with concern, and then behind his brother where Julian is standing a few paces away with the wooden sword at his side, the tip of it resting in the thin layer of snow on the ground. Julian looks pale and worried as he watches Geralt as well, shuffling one of his heels side to side.

“Geralt, are you okay?” Lambert asks in a low voice, “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

It’s not entirely inaccurate. The familiar sight of a child on the training grounds had brought back memories that haunt him, survivor’s guilt as he remembers the boys he grew up with and outlived. It’s why Ciri doesn’t train out here, but instead they train her in the courtyard or the dining hall.

“Geralt?” Julian’s small hand slips into Geralt’s, the wooden sword laying forgotten as big blue eyes peer up at him from his side.

“I’m… I’m okay,” he says slowly and Julian frowns more at the glaringly obvious lie so Geralt hurries to add, “I remembered something scary, but it can’t hurt me anymore. I know we tell you we should talk about our scary thoughts and memories because it’ll make them less scary, and I have talked about these ones before so they are less scary than they used to be, but I still think of them sometimes.”

Julian hums as his lips twist unpleasantly, looking distressed that Geralt has scary memories.

Lambert looks at Geralt and then at Julian as he thinks before crouching down to Julian’s level, “I’ve talked to the adults and they’ve told me you haven’t been telling them about your dreams. And I know you don’t tell me about your scary memories or any scary thoughts. It’s okay that you haven’t, I’m not mad, but you can trust me, right kid?” Julian nods slightly, his hand tightening on Geralt’s. “So how about this: you, me, and Geralt are gonna get some hot chocolate and cookies since I know Eskel just made some and we’re gonna play a game together in the library.”

Julian perks up at that, “What kind of game?”

“A sharing game,” Lambert ruffles the boy’s unruly hair, “It might be a kinda scary game, because some of the stuff we share might be scary memories, but we’ll share not scary stuff, too. Sound good?”

“What kind of scary stuff do I have to share?” 

“Well…” his younger brother glances up at Geralt before looking back at Julian, “I think some scary dreams, scary things about your mother and father, and your time in the woods before Yennefer found you would be the things we’d like to know about.”

Julian looks down at his feet as he thinks, scuffing the toe of his boot on the ground, “I have conditions.”

“Let’s hear them,” Geralt crouches down as well, hoping to make the boy more comfortable and his thin shoulders relax slightly now that no one is towering over him.

“Umm…” Julian glances up and between the both of them before looking back down at his shoes, “I don’t wanna know your scary dreams, Ciri told me one of Geralt’s once and it was too scary.”

“Got it,” Lambert nods while Geralt holds in a concerned frown, he’ll have to talk to Ciri about what she shares with small children, “No scary Witcher dreams. What else?”

“Hmm… uhh… I… I’d like to have a party.”

Geralt’s eyebrows jump up in surprise, “A party? Like a tea party? You and Ciri had one last week.”

“No,” Julian puffs his cheeks out, “Like a  _ party _ . With dancing and food and music. And everybody has to come. Us all and Ciri and Yenna and Vesemir. And Eskel, too, I guess so he doesn’t feel left out but he’s gotta bring Little Beater.”

Geralt opens his mouth to say no, Witcher’s don’t have parties, but Lambert speaks first, “Okay, we’ll have a party. Anything else?” He throws his brother a sharp look but Lambert ignores it in favor of watching Julian press his lips together and think.

Julian finally looks up at Lambert and then looks away to the right towards the stables as he shakes his head and Geralt shifts his weight back on his heels to stand up as Lambert says, “What is it? I’ve told you before, kid, it’s okay to want things with me. I’m not gonna get mad at you for asking. Worst that’ll happen is I’ll say no.”

Blue eyes shift back to the younger Witcher and Julian pulls his hand free of Geralt’s so he can twist his fingers together nervously, pungent anxiety filling the air and making it smell like the must of a deserted building. The heavy scent sits on Geralt’s tongue and settles in his lungs like the mold that creates a similar smell in nature and he resists the urge to lean away in an attempt to breathe fresher air.

“Julian?” Lambert prompts gently and the boy bites his lip before taking a deep breath.

“Can… can we have a sleepover?” He asks in such a small voice that Geralt’s heart nearly shatters.

Lambert looks confused, “A sleepover?”

“Sharing a bed for fun,” Geralt informs him softly before turning to Julian, “Who do you want to have a sleepover with?”

Julian chews on his fingers then drops them to worry the hem of his coat, letting his mouth hang open slightly and pushing at a loose tooth with his tongue and glancing around uncertainty before whispering, “You, me, and Lambert? I don’t wanna wake up from any scary dreams by myself…”

Lambert and Geralt share a look of private dismay from how simple Julian’s requests are. He doesn’t want to be scared by things he isn’t ready to know about yet, he wants to have fun with everyone in the keep, and he wants the company of his closest friends who aren’t Ciri. Geralt feels bad for being jealous of his brother when Julian so clearly desires his company and attention just as much as he wants Lambert’s.

“Okay,” Geralt nods and holds out a hand to shake Julian’s, “Your terms are amenable, we have a deal.”

Julian puts his tiny hand in Geralt’s and shakes it, looking up at him, “What’s amenable mean?”

“Means your terms are agreeable to us,” Lambert squeezes Julian’s shoulder before he stands up, “Now run along to the library and make a fort for us to play the game in, kid. Geralt and I will get the cookies and hot chocolate, okay?”

“Okay,” Julian nods and walks inside, turning left towards the stairs that lead up to Vesemir’s library as the door shuts behind him. Lambert sighs and picks up the sword from the snow, wiping the wood down with a rag so it doesn’t get warped from water.

“You’re teaching him how to use a sword?” Geralt asks quietly, concerned, his apprehension at the thought simmering under his words.

Lambert grunts with a nod, “You heard the kid. He just wants to feel safe, happy, and loved. He feels safe with you and me but he’ll feel even safer if he can defend himself.” His brother walks across the training field towards the storage shed and Geralt follows him. “I saw him copying us with that little dagger of his yesterday, anyway. If he’s gonna learn what we’re doing, might as well make sure he has proper form so he doesn’t hurt himself.”

“Jaskier was always pretty handy with a dagger,” Geralt hums thoughtfully, “Figured it was just ‘cause he traveled alone when he wasn’t with me. And a slut year round.” Lambert makes a noise of disgust and Geralt gives him a shit-eating grin.

“Firstly, it’s not fair to make jokes at the guy’s expense when he’s stuck as a seven-year-old and can’t defend himself-”

“He wouldn’t defend himself from that one, he’d preen like a fucking cock and crow smugly about how he’s bedded half the Continent and their mothers.”

“Fuck’s sake, Geralt,” Lambert groans and shakes his head, “I didn’t want to know that about the little kid I look after.”

“You asked,” he shrugs lightly, still grinning as he punches Lambert’s shoulder.

“I did fucking  _ not _ ! Anyway, like I was saying before you stuck your mind back up your boyfriend’s ass,” his brother shoves him back with an irritated scowl and if Geralt could blush he knows his cheeks would be pink. He didn’t know Lambert knew he and Jaskier had gotten together since he hadn't told anyone other than Vesemir and Yennefer. “KId could stand to have some sword lessons. He probably had some over the years since he’s a noble but he never told me when I was in Lettenhove.”

Geralt nods and leans against the doorjamb as Lambert enters the shed to put away the training sword, “I always suspected he had some sort of training, when we started traveling together on and off last year he and I were able to spar to a level of skill that was well beyond beginner.”

“And you mean spar with swords, right? Metal ones that slash and cut and slice and kill monsters?” Lambert tosses the wooden practice sword in a bin and crosses his arms as he glares at Geralt.

“Of course,” he nods very seriously, “It would be insulting to Jaskier to say he’s anything less than a master of the sins of the flesh. I’ve got first hand experience at his expertise.”

“Gross,” Lambert bodily shoves past Geralt as he exits the shed, his brother digging an elbow into his stomach and Geralt laughs before closing the door and falling into step with the younger Witcher as they go to the kitchen and get a platter of cookies and hot drinks, chocolate for Julian and cider for himself and Lambert. 

They then go to the library where Julian has pulled chairs over by the couch in front of the fire and draped blankets over them to create a flimsy structure big enough for two Witchers and himself, his fast heartbeat audible from within the blanket fort. Geralt kneels down and crawls through the opening to see that Julian has gathered plenty of pillows and furs to pad the floor and he’s dragged a crate into the center of the hideout to act as a table upon which Geralt places the cookie platter and the mug of his cider. 

Julian looks up from where he’s curled up on a couch cushion and wrapped in a blanket of rabbit fur, his journal open in his lap and a piece of graphite in hand. Geralt moves to Julian’s side so Lambert can crawl in and sit down across from them, setting the hot chocolate on the crate in front of the boy and settling himself so he’s comfortably criss cross under the blanket roof.

“D’you like my fort?” Julian looks up at Geralt and then over at Lambert, closing the notebook with his pencil between the pages, “I tried to make sure it’s big enough for you guys, you’re both awfully tall.”

“It looks great, kid,” Lambert smiles and nods, “Whatcha drawing? You getting any better?”

Julian shrugs slightly and hugs the journal to his chest. Geralt glances at it and recognizes it at Jaskier’s songbook, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of the worn leather and embossed silver J that’s faded with time and fingers rubbing over it.

“Where’d-” his voice comes out strangled so Geralt clears his throat and tries again, “Where’d you get your journal from, Jules?”

Julian glances down at it and pulls his pack off of his shoulders to put the journal away in it, shrugging again, “I’ve always had it, I dunno.” 

“Can we start the sharing game?” Lambert asks, leaning his elbows on his knees, “How about we play by asking questions? That way, if you don’t want to share the answer you can share something different instead but you also don’t have to always be trying to think of what to share. Does that make sense?” Julian thinks about Lambert’s offer as he shifts the bag back into place where it always sits on his shoulders, never removed except to bathe or sleep, before nodding and pulling his knees to his chest. “Okay, I’ll go first by asking Geralt a question and he’ll share an answer before asking me or you a question just so you can see how to play, okay?” Julian nods again and Lambert turns his attention to his brother.

“Geralt, what is your favorite color?”

Geralt blinks, briefly taken aback by the easy question before figuring it’s just a demonstrative technique so Julian can get the hang of the ‘game’, “Light blue. Like cornflowers.”

“That’s nice, cornflowers are a very pretty blue,” his younger brother smiles and Geralt nearly laughs from how different Lambert acts with Julian around, more responsible and respectful when normally his sharp tongue would have made a cutting remark about how Geralt’s favorite color is the same as his bard’s eyes. “Now, Geralt can ask me or you a question.”

“Huh, uh,” he grunts as he thinks, “Lambert, how long did you avoid the Path with Aiden this year?” He smiles teasingly and Lambert rolls his eyes, the two of them getting a small giggle out of Julian.

“Only two weeks, one at the end of Winter and one at the end of Autumn,” Lambert looks over at the child watching them with large eyes, “Julian, why do you wear that bag all the time? I know you’ve got a room you can store stuff in.”

Julian bites his lip and looks down at his knees, picking at a loose thread on his trousers, “If I keep all of my special things with me then nobody can take them.” The Witchers nod in understanding and the boy rushes to speak before either of them can make him elaborate, “My turn to ask a question. Umm, Geralt, is Roach your favoritest horse or have you ever had a more favorite horse than her?”

He’s surprised that Julian decided to ask him a question, and about  _ Roach _ of all things, instead of Lambert and doesn’t answer until his brother nudges his knee, “Oh, uh, Roach is my favorite horse.” Julian nods as though this was the right answer and Geralt’s lips twitch when he hears the child whisper to himself about how she’s the bestest girl and deserves to be everyone’s favorite, not just his and Geralt’s.

“Geralt, your turn to ask a question,” Lambert reminds him as Julian reaches for a cookie and takes a big bite, crumbs falling onto his trousers and shirt.

“Right. Julian,” Geralt looks at the boy again who briefly glances away from the cookie that holds most of his attention, “Do you remember how you told Yennefer you have scary thoughts? What did you mean by that?”

Julian pauses in the devouring of his cookie and frowns deeply, looking hard at his knees as he thinks about how he wants to answer, “I don’t like this game. Can we play something else?”

“No, we need to play this game,” Lambert says and Geralt glances at him, having expected his brother to acquiesce and allow a less difficult game for Julian, “It’s really important to me if you play this game with me and Geralt, kid. I know we’re probably gonna ask some tough questions, so I need you to be really brave and answer them, please.”

The boy frowns more and sets the cookie down to wrap his arms around his knees, burying his face in them and whispering something that’s muffled by fabric and bone.

“Julian, kid,” Lambert’s voice is softer than Geralt’s ever heard it, even with Aiden, “What did you mean when you told the witch you have scary thoughts?”

Julian’s arms tighten around his knees and Geralt wants to draw the child into his arms to ease the tension in his small body but he stays where he is to let Julian answer. “I think about killing somebody...” he whispers a little louder, barely able to be heard even with their Witcher hearing, “when I get mad I want to stab him. Sometimes I think about what his blood would feel like on me or holding his head under water in a bath. Sometimes I think about not having any more blood or sleeping forever and ever and ever and ever and never waking up again. All these things I think about make me scared. Sometimes I wish I was at home and that’s scary, too.”

“Who do you want to kill?” Lambert asks quietly and there’s a moment of silence before Julian looks up with an irritated frown.

“No, it’s my turn to ask a question, Lambert,” he huffs and Lambert raises his hands in surrender, “Lambert, how come Eskel pretends so much?”

Lambert frowns in confusion, his brow knitting and the corners of his lips tugging downward, “What do you mean, kid?”

“He’s always playing pretend. He smiles and says he’s okay if you ask ‘how are you’ but it’s a lie. I broke a plate on accident and said sorry and he said it was okay but it wasn’t okay, I know it wasn’t okay because his eyes were angry, just like how Father’s are when I do something bad but we have company so he can’t punish me,” Julian’s cheeks are colored with frustration, “His eyes are always mad or sad but he says he’s okay and he’s playing pretend all the time, just like Father does. Why?”

“Eskel… likes humans a lot,” Lambert starts carefully, floundering slightly to find the answer to a highly personal question for his brother, “But humans don’t like Witchers very much, you know that. Especially if a Witcher is angry or sad, it scares humans. So Eskel pretends he’s not angry or sad around humans so they don’t hate him.”

“Well tell him to knock it off,” Julian crosses his arms with a scowl, “I don’t like it.”

Lambert looks at Julian for a long moment and Geralt can tell he’s weighing the risks of asking whatever it is he’s considering inquiring about. “Julian, what sort of punishments did your father give you?”

The boy’s flushed cheeks drain of color as he turns pale and ashy, his breath catching in his chest and his eyes becoming panicked. Julian starts to tremble as he looks up at Lambert and then Geralt, his eyes darting back and forth uneasily and the musty scent of anxiety that has been filling the fort is shoved aside by the acrid burn of panic, “I don’t want to play anymore, I don’t like this game.”

“Please, Julian?” Lambert asks seriously and Geralt frowns as he watches Julian’s trembling increase in intensity, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as the air becomes nearly charged like it would before magic is used when chaos is gathered, “I have to know what he did to you.”

“Lambert,” Geralt murmurs in warning as Julian’s distress becomes so strong that he can taste it on the air.

“I have to know, Geralt. I sat and did nothing for fucking  _ years _ while that bastard did who knows what to him,” Lambert snarls suddenly, any semblance of gentleness gone and Julian recoils as Lambert turns his glare onto the boy, “ _ Tell me _ , Julian.”

“No!” Julian grabs his hair in fistfuls, tugging hard and screwing up his face, “No! No! No!”

“I know he hit you,” Lambert changes tactics and Geralt gapes at him, too shocked to do anything, “He beat the shit out of you, didn’t he, Julian? He’d give you special tea before bed and then make you touch him or let him touch you in places you didn’t want to be touched?”

“Lambert, that’s enough!”

“Stop it! Stop it! No! No! No!”

“They’d ignore you, pretend you didn’t exist if you were bad enough, right? They wouldn’t give you food for days sometimes, that’s what you told me, Julian.” Geralt tries to move to Julian but Lambert shoves him back and lunges into the space between Julian and Geralt, knocking over the mugs as the crate is jostled, “That your mother and father would  _ starve _ you because you wanted to play outside instead of practicing your penmanship. They’d tell you you’re a bad kid, that you don’t deserve their attention or love, what else would they tell you, Julian? What would they do to you?”

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” Julian wails, pushing his hands over his ears, “I don’t wanna play anymore! I hate this game! Stop talking!”

“Lambert,  _ enough _ !” Geralt grabs Lambert’s shoulder and his younger brother shoves him off, his fingers forming the symbol of Aard. The blankets that make up the fort are just draped over the chairs and as such get tangled around Geralt as he’s blasted back by magic.

Lambert’s voice is angry and demanding, his patience snapped as the information he’s been fed over a week that they’ve slowly gleaned from Julian and had time to accept over nearly two months weighs heavily on his mind. Guilt making him act out aggressively. “What would they do, Julian? Be a good kid and tell me,  _ now _ !”

Julian starts screaming.

It’s a different scream than the one when he cut himself. Those howls were of fear and pain from the suddenness of being injured and bleeding and not being sure what to do. They frightened Geralt at first because he didn’t know what they were but as soon as he knew Julian was ultimately safe, if a little bloody, his fears had melted away.

This is different.

This is a blood curdling scream of complete terror, the sound shrill and ringing off the stone walls with such overwhelming distress that it becomes suffocating. Geralt has to close his eyes against the bombardment and he feels the snapping and snarling of chaos on Julian’s cries against his skin and pushing at his ears, vertigo attacking him with a vengeance. He thinks he hears Lambert shout something but the screams are so loud and every time they bounce off a surface in the library the effects increase and his heart is shattering at the agony in Julian’s screams, at the thought of Jaskier carrying this pain for decades and never breathing a word of it to anyone. At the same time, his head feels like it’s splitting apart and his ears feel hot as the world becomes more muted, giving him some reprieve. It’s just enough for him to touch his ears and open his eyes.

There’s blood on his hands from his bleeding ears and Geralt looks over to see Lambert with his hands over his ears and his eyes tightly shut, he tries to look at Julian but his eyes seem to skitter past so he takes a moment to look around the library. The glass in the windows is shattered and blown across the ground, the books have been thrown from the shelves and tattered pages have been ripped from some of them, and Geralt grits his teeth as he forces himself to look at Julian.

Julian is on his feet, his mouth hanging open with razor sharp teeth in it and his hands balled into fists at his sides as he stands tense as a drawn bowstring. Blood drips from his fists as claws dig into the flesh of his palms, pale blue scales decorating his skin in uneven patches. His ears have turned to webbed cartilage of a matching blue and the whites of his eyes have turned black with blood, the only color in them a thick ring of blue from how small his pupils are shrunk. Jaskier, Julian, whatever--  _ Geralt’s bard _ , adult or child, is a siren and his distress is so extreme that it shattered whatever incredibly powerful glamour had hidden this from, not only Geralt but also his monster-detecting medallion. 

Geralt tries to use Axii to calm Julian down but, for the first time in his life since first learning them, a symbol doesn’t work. He tries it again and then for a third time before Julian seems to notice that magic is being used against him and his tortured screams do… something. For just a moment, Geralt can almost swear he hears the tormented and desperate howls of adult Jaskier echoing behind Julian’s high-pitched wails before his eyes roll back into his head and his world goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First Potential trigger: Geralt has a flashback, and consequent panic attack, to his own time as a young boy training to be a Witcher when he sees Lambert training Julian with a sword.
> 
> Second Potential triggers: Geralt asks Julian about the "scary thoughts" he mentioned he has and Julian confides that he sometimes thinks about killing someone via stabbing or drowning as well as sometimes wishing he could go to sleep and never wake up again. Julian then asks why Eskel pretends to be fine and when Lambert asks him to elaborate Julian explains that Eskel's pretending upsets him because it reminds him of his Father who would pretend everything was okay if Julian was "bad" in front of company and then punished Julian later. Lambert asks Julian what kind of punishments his father would give him and Julian refuses to answer, becoming distressed. Lambert pushes for Julian to tell him, eventually losing his temper and telling Julian what Lambert knows his father did to him and asking Julian to confirm the abuses Lambert is confronting him with and demanding that Julian tell him what other abuses Julian suffered at his parents' hands.
> 
> If you or someone you know are suffering from child abuse please visit [childwelfare.gov](https://www.childwelfare.gov/organizations/?CWIGFunctionsaction=rols:main.dspList&rolType=Custom&RS_ID=%205) for the list of state child abuse and neglect reporting numbers in the USA.
> 
> I do not give permission for my work to be shared or reposted to any other website other than as a weblink to this Archive of Our Own URL with credit given to me.


	11. An Imitation of History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think there are some things we need to discuss,” Yennefer says finally, clasping her hands in front of her, “All of us. Julian, too. We’ve left him in the dark for far too long and he deserves to be treated with the respect he’s owed.” Julian looks up at her with wide eyes and while the witch doesn’t smile she does incline her head towards him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ringa ding ding! Ringa ding ding! Official update time!

His head is pounding, a dull aching throb behind his eyes and ears and at the top of his skull. His ears are ringing with a high pitched whine as well and the world sounds muted as Lambert peels his eyes open. What he sees first is just overwhelmingly bright blue, like he’s looking at the sky, but there’s something dripping on his face as though it’s raining so it can’t be the sky he’s seeing. He blinks and the blue separates and sharpens as Lambert’s eyes focus, Julian leaning over him and tears dripping from his chin onto Lambert’s cheeks. 

He groans and Julian gasps, jumping up and disappearing from view so Lambert shoves himself into a seated position and ignores the dizzying wave of nausea that wrenches his stomach as he does so. Looking around he takes stock of his own injuries, they’re still in the library, which looks like it was hit by a tornado; books damaged and violently thrown from the shelves, the windows shattered with glass littering the wooden floor, the furs and blankets of the fort are soaked from the drinks Lambert knocked off the crate. 

Nothing feels broken and he doesn’t seem to be bleeding at all but there’s dried blood forming a crusty trail from his ears down his jaw and neck and Lambert thinks he might have a slight concussion. Looking over he sees Geralt is on his feet, Julian hiding behind the White Wolf’s legs, and a murderous expression on his brother’s face. There’s blood dried on Geralt’s face and neck as well, some of his long hair stuck in the congealed mess below his ears.

Lambert’s eyes drop to the pale and shaking child who is clinging to Geralt’s trousers and he feels a flood of shame and guilt. He’s never been the best at holding his tongue, but Julian had always held a special place in his heart and made him temper his biting rage. Now he’s unleashed it on the boy he considers his younger brother, a child who spent years being yelled at and punished and being abused. Julian always counted on Lambert to be a source of salvation, a reprieve from the ire he faced every day from his family, and now Lambert’s broken that trust if the frightened blue eyes that peer at him around Geralt’s legs are anything to go by.

Before he can open his mouth to even begin apologizing, the door to the library bursts open and Yennefer sweeps in with Vesemir following close behind, both of them looking around in shock at the destruction. Geralt puts his hand protectively on top of Julian’s head as they turn to face the new occupants of the once pristine place of research.

“What happened here?” Vesemir demands, crossing his arms and drawing himself up to his full height sternly. Julian shrinks behind Geralt even more, a soft whimper escaping his lips and drawing the attention of violet eyes.

“A siren,” Yennefer breathes, which grabs Vesemir’s focus as well.

“Geralt, did you know about this?” Vesemir asks forcefully, “Your bard’s a siren?”

“I… I don’t…” Geralt looks uneasy and glances down as Julian’s arms wind around his thigh, “I didn’t know. There were never any signs pointing to it, nothing to suggest he was anything other than human.”

Yennefer hums and waves her hand, the books rising from the floor and repairing themselves as they slide back onto the shelves and the glass returns to the windows. Lambert gets to his feet slowly to let the dizziness of his concussion abate so he doesn’t immediately fall over again, “Julian, I…” The kid flinches when Lambert starts to speak and the Witcher’s throat constricts with more guilt, his face getting hot and he knows it would be dark red with shame were he able to blush.

“I think there are some things we need to discuss,” Yennefer says finally, clasping her hands in front of her, “All of us. Julian, too. We’ve left him in the dark for far too long and he deserves to be treated with the respect he’s owed.” Julian looks up at her with wide eyes and while the witch doesn’t smile she does incline her head towards him.

“Get cleaned up, we’ll reconvene in the dining hall in an hour,” Vesemir grunts before leaving the library. Yennefer lingers for a moment, glancing between Lambert, Geralt, and Julian before leaving as well. 

Lambert swallows hard and turns to his brother and the kid, taking a deep breath, “Geralt, I’m sorry.”

Geralt ignores him in favor of crouching down in front of Julian, “Do you want me to carry you? We’ll go take baths and get changed?” The kid nods and lifts his arms up so Geralt can pick him up and settle him on his hip. Lambert feels a small amount of relief that he hasn’t ruined Julian’s progress with Geralt, he had been told how it took his brother over a month to earn Julian’s trust enough to help the boy bathe.

“Geralt-”

“We’ll speak later, Lambert,” Geralt cuts him off icily as he stands up again, his arms wrapped securely around the kid, “Get cleaned up.” Lambert then watches with a small sigh as Geralt and Julian leave the library as well.

Lambert stands in the middle of the stacks, his hands hanging loosely at his sides as his guilt presses down further upon him. It crushes his lungs and squeezes his stomach, choking him until he’s gasping for air and placing his hands on his knees to retain his balance. Why did he do that? How could he be such a bastard to a little boy? He knows Julian doesn’t do well under pressure, that the kid doesn’t react well to being yelled at, and Lambert still couldn’t stop himself from losing his temper.

He had just felt so  _ useless _ . The witch and Geralt had told him all the things they had learned about Julian’s past and it was so much worse than Lambert imagined. He just wanted to help the kid heal from the violent traumas haunting his young mind but he can’t if he doesn’t know exactly what it is he’s helping the kid heal from. Julian’s like a little brother to him, he loves that annoying brat just as much as he loves Geralt or Eskel, and now he’s broken whatever trust Julian had in him. No, he’s more than broken it, he’s shattered it and then scattered the shards on the wind to be blown across the Continent. 

With a heavy heart and heavier head, Lambert straightens up again and starts to clean up the blankets and furs that make up the fort, folding them neatly and piling them in the trunk by the fireplace before placing the cushions and pillows back onto the couches and armchairs. He then opens a window to dump the cold contents of the forgotten mugs onto the snow, the drinks having been pulled out of the furs from where they spilled when Yennefer righted the room. He packs the mugs and plate of abandoned cookies into the crate and carries it under his arm as he closes the door to the library behind him and goes to the kitchen, dropping the crate on the counter and using the water pump to wash his face and hands clean of blood.

Lambert finally settles down in the dining hall, long before anyone else, and waits.

Vesemir comes in next, silently sitting at the head of the table as he usually does and pulling a book out of his pocket to read patiently. The witch and Geralt’s child surprise enter a few minutes later, talking quietly about magic and things Lambert neither understands nor cares about. Eskel slips into the dining hall after that, taking his seat at his brother’s side and knocking his knee against Lambert’s reassuringly, most likely able to smell the younger Witcher’s guilt and distress.

Geralt and Julian enter last, with Julian perched on Geralt’s hip and his thin limbs wrapped tightly around the White Wolf. Lambert ducks his head in shame as Geralt sits down across from him and adjusts Julian on his lap, the siren child curling up against Geralt’s chest and tangling a small hand in the Witcher’s tunic. The hall falls silent for a long and pregnant pause before the tension is broken by Yennefer.

“Tell me what happened,” the witch looks at Geralt and then Lambert. It isn’t a request, but a command. Her voice softens as she addresses the child on Geralt’s lap, however, “Julian, if anything is too scary, it’s okay to leave the conversation, okay?”

“Okay,” he replies in a soft voice, turning his face into Geralt’s shoulder. Yennefer turns her intense gaze back to the Witchers, looking at them expectantly.

“We had the idea,” Lambert starts slowly and Geralt gives him a sharp look that makes his shoulders jump up to his ears and he corrects himself, “ _ I _ had the idea of playing a… sort of game where we asked questions. To try to get Julian to open up about certain topics like his folks or the woods where you found him. It wasn’t going well and I… I got overwhelmed by how useless I felt about everything and the guilt of not helping the kid when I had the chance to and I lost my temper. Yelled at him.”

“He started screaming,” Geralt says quietly, “I don’t know how none of you heard it, but it was awful. Sound was bouncing around the room, getting louder and louder until we passed out.”

Yennefer hums before getting to her feet and walking to Geralt’s side, raising her hand to hover near his temple, “May I?” Geralt nods and closes his eyes, leaning back in his chair to relax and the witch places her fingers to his head, closing her eyes as well.

“What’s she doing?” Julian whispers to Ciri, glancing nervously up at Yennefer, “What’s happening?”

“She’s reading his mind,” Ciri whispers back, “Seeing what happened in case there was something that wasn’t mentioned because it wasn’t seen as important but actually is.”

“Does it hurt?”

Ciri shakes her head, “No, since Geralt is letting her do it it’s only a little bit uncomfortable. Like wearing clothes that don’t fit just right.”

Julian glances up at them again as he thinks, biting his lip with pointed teeth, “If Geralt didn’t want her to do it and she did it anyway, then it would hurt?”

Lambert frowns at the question and looks to Ciri, morbidly curious about the answer as well. The princess looks troubled but nods, “Yes… Yes, Julian, it would hurt.” The kid nods slightly and settles back against Geralt’s chest, rubbing his tired eyes with a clumsy fist as they wait for the witch to finish reviewing the memories. 

A few more minutes of uncomfortable silence pass before Yennefer opens her eyes again and removes her hand, patting the top of Geralt’s head patronizingly, “Thank you, Geralt, that was very insightful.”

“It was?” He narrows his eyes at her as she sits down in the chair next to him instead of returning to her seat beside Ciri.

“It was. I have a theory, but I can’t be sure of it unless I check something else,” she brushes Julian’s hair off of his face and he turns to look at her, “Julian, may we please see the contents of your bag?”

Julian frowns and possessively grabs one of the straps of his pack with his free hand, “How come?”

“We won’t take anything, I just would like to inspect the items you’ve brought with you,” she continues to comb her fingers through his hair to soothe him and he glances away nervously. His fingers adjust their grip on the strap before he lets go of Geralt’s shirt and removes the pack from his shoulders with jerky movements, settling it on his lap and opening it.

Julian glances up at Yennefer, who gives him an encouraging nod, before reaching into his bag and hesitantly withdrawing the items inside, placing them on the table in front of him. There’s a handful of pebbles and stones in various shapes and colors that probably drew his eye along with two shards of colored glass from broken bottles. There’s a threadbare stuffed cat that’s more gray than white and the kid’s silver dagger. Finally, he places a leatherbound journal on the table that’s embossed with a faded silver J and a leather pouch that clinks like glass which he opens and turns over to empty onto the table, a handful of Witcher potions rolling across the wood.

Lambert’s eyes widen and he glances up at Geralt, who has a pained expression on his face as he looks at the items, before he looks to Yennefer. The witch’s face is unreadable as she observes the possessions. She doesn’t reach out to touch them but the feeling of magic being done charges the air and makes the hair on the back of Lambert’s neck stand up.

“Geralt, you seem to recognize some of these items,” Vesemir breaks the silence and Geralt makes a soft, wounded sound as he nods.

“Jaskier-”

“Still has them,” Yennefer cuts in and all eyes turn to her in surprise, “These are fakes. Imitations of items that belong to your bard.”

“What do you mean they’re fake?” Geralt frowns and looks at the items again, “That’s the dagger I gave Jaskier our first Spring traveling together. I told him if he was so determined to get himself killed at my side, the least he could do is have the chance to survive. And that’s his songbook, I’ve never seen him without it in twenty years.”

“And the potions?” Eskel asks in his calm voice.

“Jaskier watched me make them over and over again, I didn’t know why until he showed up our fifteenth Spring with his own set that he’d brewed,” Geralt sounds pained as he speaks, unable to take his eyes off of the possessions on the table, “They work even better than ours, took me forever to get the story out of him but I found out he has connections with the Viper school and spent a Winter there learning how to perfect and improve our potions.”

Eskel lets out a low whistle, “Is your bard really that smart?”

“As much as I hate to admit it, Jaskier is incredibly intelligent,” Yennefer drawls, “He just hides it behind his goofy persona. Regardless, these aren’t his. The dagger is silver, yes, but it isn’t enchanted like Jaskier’s is-”

“Jaskier’s dagger isn’t enchanted,” Geralt protests and Yennefer holds up a hand to silence him.

“Your bard had me enchant it so that he couldn’t lose it. It was a very clever bit of magic, if I do say so myself. If taken from him with ill intention it will be returned to the hidden sheath in his boot once it’s out of mind,” the witch looks smugly at Geralt, “It was your bard’s idea. He sought me out for it.”

Geralt looks confused and a bit shocked, “I thought you hated each other?”

The witch hums dismissively with a small smile quirking her lips up, “Jaskier and I have much in common, it would be quite difficult for me to truly hate him. I admit I wasn’t particularly fond of him at first, nor he of me, but over time we’ve become something akin to friends. You’re just used to friendship being all about holding hands and kumbaya and all that kindness nonsense, Geralt.”

“You insult each other at every chance you get.”

“Do you not spar with your brothers? Do you not wrestle and roughhouse like beasts with them or Jaskier?” She points out, “You fight and beat each other for fun and out of affection. Jaskier and I do the same, only our sparring is mental.” Geralt grunts, conceding to her argument but still looking mildly confused by it. 

“As I was saying, the dagger is a fake because it isn’t enchanted. The songbook is a fake because it isn’t old enough. Jaskier carried his book for twenty plus years, that one is maybe five years old. I’m certain if you open it it will contain naught but the doodles of the child in your lap. The potions there are not potions at all, just colored water with a glamour on them to make them look like Witcher potions.”

“Who’s Jaskier?” Julian speaks up, having been sitting quietly and listening to them talk. Lambert looks at him and the kid looks frustrated at not knowing who everyone is talking about.

“A friend of Geralt’s,” Yennefer answers smoothly, “We’re trying to find him.”

“He’s missing?”

“In a way.”

“Why do I have fake items of his?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out, little one,” she looks at the stuffed cat and reaches for it, “May I?” At Julian’s nod she picks it up and turns it over gently in her hands, “What’s its name?”

“Gregory.”

“Well, it is very nice to meet you, Gregory,” the witch addresses the cat and Julian smiles slightly, “How long have you had him, Julian?”

“I dunno, he was with the other stuff when I woke up in the woods,” the boy shrugs lightly, “Why?”

Yennefer sets the stuffed toy on the table again and folds her hands in her lap, “Because Gregory reeks of magic.” Lambert looks at her quickly and notices Geralt doing the same.

“What does that mean, Yen? What kind of magic?” Geralt growls and Julian glances up at him worriedly.

She shakes her head, “I don’t actually know. I don’t recognize the kind at all, but the traces feel familiar. Like I should know who the caster is. I have a theory about what is going on, but I can’t be certain unless I check something. And for that I need your help, Julian.”

“Me?” The kid looks startled and watches Yennefer with wide eyes.

The witch nods, “You. I need to read your mind, little one, to see if my theory is correct. I can’t explain beforehand though, so I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

Julian bites his lip nervously and twists his fingers together, “This will help find Geralt’s friend?” Yennefer nods again and the boy takes a deep breath before letting it out slowly, “Okay. Okay, I’ll help. How do I…?”

“It’s easiest if you’re asleep since you’re a child,” she pulls her chair closer to him and Geralt, “I’m going to make you go to sleep now, okay?”

“Okay,” Julian whispers and Yennefer touches his forehead. The boy’s eyes close and he slumps into Geralt’s chest as he falls into a deep slumber.

Yennefer takes a deep breath and brushes her hair back before squaring her shoulders, “This may take a while, I need to get down to his subconscious. It’s easier to not ask questions now and I’ll just explain everything after I’m done.” Lambert exchanges a nervous glance with Geralt before they both nod and the witch closes her eyes, placing her fingers on Julian’s temple.

The quiet that falls over the dining hall starts out patient before it grows heavy as the slow seconds stretch into tense minutes, anxiety befalling those seated at the table. Lambert watches in terse silence, his knee bouncing almost silently beneath the table as the heel of his boot gently taps against the ground. Geralt is sat as still as a statue, his eyes flickering between Julian and Yennefer. At his side, Ciri plays with her fingers and shifts her weight in her seat every few minutes, unable to stop fidgeting under the pressure of the silence. Eskel looks patient but the corner of his mouth is twitching slightly, cluing Lambert in to his brother’s habit of chewing on the inside of his cheek. Vesemir has pulled his book back out but his eyes drift back and forth over the same spot and the pages do not turn.

Julian makes a soft sound and everyone’s attention is drawn to him as his brow furrows and his lips turn down, his eyes closed as he remains in the hold of magical sleep. His next deep breath is shuddering and Geralt looks concerned, glancing briefly at Yennefer’s blank expression.

“What’s happening?” Eskel asks no one in particular in a low voice.

“I don’t know,” Ciri is the one who answers him, the most knowledgeable on the type of magics Yennefer is performing right now, “I would say he’s becoming distressed but that would only happen if Yen’s disturbing things in his mind, which she knows better than to do.”

Julian whimpers then, and his breathing becomes labored while his hands twitch into fists in his lap. A small crease forms on Yennefer’s brow as her face becomes pinched.

“Well can you help them? Or stop it?” Lambert asks desperately, he can’t see the kid in pain again already, it was horrible to see it once today.

Ciri shakes her head, “I can’t, I don’t know how to aid in mind magics. And stopping it is a bad idea, breaking the connection can harm them both. Yennefer is controlling the chaos flowing in their minds right now, but if the connection is suddenly broken then the chaos could injure, like how a broken bowstring can whip you.”

Geralt’s arms tighten around Julian as the child jerks and spasms for a few moments, pained cries and whimpers falling from his lips and Yennefer’s face screws up in a tense frown, concentration visible in the way sweat beads up on her forehead and drips down her temple. She grits her teeth and her painted lips part as she starts to pant from exertion and Julian is thrashing in Geralt’s grip now.

“Ciri, do something! You’re the only one with magic!” Lambert stands up, his hands fluttering uselessly and the princess is covering her mouth and shaking her head.

“I’m sorry, Lambert, I can’t! There’s nothing I can-” The rest of her sentence is drowned out by an agonizing scream.

Julian’s face is twisted in pain and tears are dripping down his face, but the scream that comes from his open mouth isn’t his own. It’s too deep, too old to belong to a seven-year-old child, siren or not. The ululation belongs to a man in deep agony and while Lambert’s focus is on Julian he sees Geralt’s ashen face in his periphery crumple as the screams turn to desperate pleas.

“Gods, please, please! Someone help me, please! Someone, anyone! Gods,  _ fuck _ \- please help me! I’ll do anything, just help me,  _ help me _ ! Please!”

Lambert vaguely recognizes the male voice being channeled by magic through the mouth of Julian but he can’t quite place where he’s heard the broken tenor before. Yennefer finally pulls her hand away with a gasp, falling back in her chair and gulping down heaving breaths of air and Julian falls silent and still in Geralt’s lap as the spell is broken. Lambert slowly looks up at his brother and feels like he’s been thrown into an icy lake at the sight of actual  _ tears _ in the White Wolf’s golden eyes, his brother smelling like distress and grief.

“Geralt,” Eskel says softly, “Who…?”

Geralt turns his watering eyes towards his brothers but his gaze is unseeing of them, his mind visualizing something much worse as he sobs out a single word, “ _ Jaskier _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not give permission for my work to be shared or reposted to any other website other than as a weblink to this Archive of Our Own URL with credit given to me.


	12. Finders Keepers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She sighs then and murmurs her thanks to Ciri as the girl places another cup of water into the sorceress’s hands. Yennefer doesn’t like to admit her faults, and her explanation will require admittance of being fooled just as thoroughly as the others. She should be better, smarter, more powerful than anyone else. Yet, whoever has done this has pulled the wool over her eyes just as much as the Witchers’ and that infuriates her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My chapter? A day late and shorter than average? It's more likely than you think.
> 
> I'm back home again from vacation so I've been too busy to write, I'll try to make sure next week's chapter is longer to make up for it. On the bright side, we have a total chapter count! There will be two more chapters and then an epilogue :)

Her hand shakes as she lifts the cup of water to her lips, greedily sucking down the cool liquid to rejuvenate her parched tongue as sweat continues to roll down her hot face. All eyes are on the sorceress as she catches her breath and hands the empty cup to Ciri, who scampers off to refill it with more water, before she carefully sits up from the slouch she ended up in when she flung herself away from the siren child on Geralt’s lap. Her bones creak with the age that her chaos so dutifully hides and her muscles groan in protest from even the smallest of movements as she pushes her sweat-dampened hair off of her face and ties it up into a loose bun to keep it off of her neck.

“Yennefer,” Vesemir is the one to break the silence and a small, wounded sound slips free of Geralt’s lips as he curls around the child more.

“What the fuck was that, witch?” Lambert snarls at her, “The kid was  _ screaming _ , like he was being fucking tortured-” the youngest wolf’s voice breaks but he pushes through, “And why did he sound like an adult again?”

Yennefer takes a long, slow breath in to calm her racing heart before beginning to carefully explain, “Because this child isn’t Jaskier.” 

There’s another long moment of silence before Eskel quietly asks, “What do you mean?”

She sighs then and murmurs her thanks to Ciri as the girl places another cup of water into the sorceress’s hands. Yennefer doesn’t like to admit her faults, and her explanation will require admittance of being fooled just as thoroughly as the others. She should be  _ better _ , smarter, more powerful than anyone else. Yet, whoever has done this has pulled the wool over her eyes just as much as the Witchers’ and that infuriates her.

“I mean, the child isn’t Jaskier. They are a good imitation without being a doppler, but that’s the work of a powerful glamour tied to this,” she taps the stuffed cat on the table.

“I thought all glamours had to be worn?” Ciri asks with a confused frown.

Yennefer nods, “Ordinarily, they do. A powerful enough one won’t require it though if the glamour is tied to something of importance, just like any spell that requires an anchor. I don’t doubt that the stuffed cat truly did belong to Jaskier when he was a boy, so it holds its own kind of chaos in it via the emotional attachment of a child seeking comfort where they can. The caster of the glamour put it on the cat with the intentions of it affecting whoever imbues the toy with chaos, creating a feedback loop and a never-ending spell that doesn’t require the maintenance of the caster.”

“So because he loved that damn cat so much as a kid, a mage can use it to cast powerful magic on Jaskier?” Vesemir clarifies and when Yennefer nods he continues, “But you’ve just said this child isn’t Jaskier.”

“They aren’t. One of the spells on the toy is a connection spell,” she sips her water and blinks away the burning exhaustion of her eyes, “A bit of magic that is supposed to be forbidden. We studied it at Aretuza when delving into mind magics to learn more about the brain but were under express instruction to never use it.”

“What does it do?” Ciri asks in a small voice.

“It carves away part of the mind of the subject and places it in the mind of the vessel, suppressing the vessel’s true self and stealing from the subject,” Yennefer says in an even voice but she sets the cup of water down to hide her clenched fists in her skirts, “A connection is maintained between the subject and the vessel, otherwise the subject would die.”

Lambert frowns, “And the subject is-”

“Jaskier, yes. The siren child is the vessel.”

“So whoever’s doing this cut out part of Jaskier’s mind?” Ciri jumps up from her seat in alarm, “Why? Why would someone do that?”

Yennefer sighs and looks down at her lap, her jaw tightening with disgust, “To fool us. Whoever is doing this wanted us to think that Jaskier was affected by an age curse, and as such spend our time on a wild goose chase while they did what they liked with him.”

“But  _ why _ ?”

“While the bard is certainly not a siren, he’s most likely not fully human either. None except Geralt and myself have known him long enough to notice that he hasn’t aged a day. Not in the decade I’ve known him and I doubt in the two Geralt’s known him. Other than that, I’ve never noticed anything that could indicate non-human ancestry, at least not on the surface. I’d have to go deep into his mind to find out what it is and I refuse to do that without consent,” Yennefer shakes her head and leans back in her chair wearily, “Regardless, whatever that non-human aspect is, it’s most likely what a mage would be after. Especially if he’s descended from a powerful race.”

“It’d have to be a real distant ancestor to not affect our medallions,” Eskel points out but Vesemir shakes his head in contradiction.

“Not necessarily. Some of the ancient and powerful races have magics that don’t affect our medallions. It’s why it’s so important to understand the bestiary and be able to rely on your own knowledge, not just if you’re separated from your medallion but in case you are faced with one of these creatures.”

“What kinds of creatures do that, Vesemir?” Lambert frowns.

“Djinns, when they aren’t actively granting a wish, for starters. The fair folk, selkies, dragons, elemental spirits,” Vesemir runs a hand over his hair and for just a moment he looks as old as he is, “All incredibly rare these days, dying breeds, killed off by humans just as we are.”

“How did you know the kid isn’t the bard?” Lambert directs the conversation back to the matter at hand.

Yennefer frowns and narrows her eyes, glaring at the table as though it personally offended her, “I’d like to say I suspected from the start that something foul was at play, but that would be untrue. I didn’t suspect anything until part of the glamour broke, the part concealing the child’s siren nature. As I said before, Jaskier may not be fully human but I’m certain he isn’t part siren, nor full siren like this child is. My theory was supported by the imitations of Jaskier’s belongings and confirmed when I followed the connection between their minds.”

“You created a loop of sorts. Is that why we could hear…?” Geralt asks in a soft voice and she nods.

“His distress call, yes. It’s being suppressed by whatever magic is on his end,” Yennefer sighs and tucks an errant curl back behind her ear before trying to ease the White Wolf with a gentle voice, “It’s not necessarily what’s happening to him at this exact moment in time, Geralt.”

“Yen…” Ciri leans forward to look around Geralt and make eye contact with the sorceress, “do you know who’s doing this? You said the magic was familiar.”

“I said traces were familiar,” she corrects, “There aren’t many mages that condone experimentation and the usage of forbidden magics, really there’s only the one. But the majority of the magic in use here doesn’t feel like it belongs to him, just the traces.”

“Who-”

“Stregobor,” Geralt growls and Yennefer looks at him in mild surprise. How does Geralt know of Stregobor’s penchant for human experimentation?

“Yes, but as I said, only the traces feel like his magic. Like he was just around when the spells were cast so small bits of his chaos were caught in it.”

“What about that other mage? The one Jaskier mentioned in his letter?” Ciri points out, “Could she be working with this Stregobor person? It would explain how they got a hold of Jaskier’s childhood toy if she was his family’s mage.”

Yennefer nods thoughtfully, “Possibly, and if she’s hiding with someone as powerful as Stregobor then it would explain why I couldn’t find her before.” At the look of concern on Ciri’s expressive face, the sorceress smiles gently at her, “He’s not as powerful as me, though, cub. Don’t worry.”

“What do we do now?” Lambert asks quietly, his hands clasped together on top of the table and his eyes focussed on them.

She sighs for what feels like the millionth time in thirty minutes as she settles back into her chair, picking up the water once more and taking a long drink, “As much as I’d like to get at this immediately, I’m too drained. I need to rest before I can start tracking down Stregobor.”

“And then? What happens when you find him?”

“I’ll return with Jaskier, of course. Reverse the cast spells as best that I can.”

“What does that mean, Yen?” Geralt looks over at her, his face a mask of neutrality once more.

“It means that forbidden magics are forbidden for a reason. They can go wrong on a dime,” she shakes her head and rubs her eyes gently with her fingertips, “I can’t predict what will happen when I attempt to undo the connection and return the part of Jaskier’s mind that’s in this child. It’s like… well, a very crude and imprecise comparison would be someone aggressively carving out part of the inside of a watermelon and then me putting it back in later. When you slice the watermelon, you’ll be able to see where the damage was done, but it should still taste and look like a watermelon if I’m successful.”

“That’s horrible,” Ciri says quietly and Yennefer looks up and around at the horrified expressions on the faces of the table’s occupants.

“It’s not exactly what this is, I told you it’s a crude and imprecise comparison to make it easier to understand.”

“Still…”

The sorceress sighs, again, and carefully stands up, “I think I am going to retire to my room now. If any of you need me, please be sure that you actually do require my attention before bothering me. The sooner I am rested the sooner I can begin my search for Stregobor.”

“And the kid?” Lambert glances at the siren child on Geralt’s lap.

“He’ll sleep through tomorrow. While he’s not actually Jaskier, he still thinks he is so it’s best to continue treating him as we have been.”

“What about after all the magic’s done? You said that the bit of the bard’s mind that’s in the kid will be put back in Jaskier’s head. So we'll have a bard but also have a random siren kid.”

“Then I suppose we’ll burn that bridge when we get to it, won’t we?” Yennefer sniffs loftily before sweeping from the dining hall, her heels clicking on the stone floor beneath her. As she makes her way to her bedroom she lets her tired mind wander and finds herself thinking about the siren child.

If they awake again after she removes Jaskier’s mind from them, they won’t have parents. Yennefer highly doubts that Stregobor would leave any loose ends like that just lying around. The boy is young, too, very young. Younger than Ciri was when she became like a daughter to the sorceress. These are dangerous thoughts to be having, but Yennefer is too tired to reprimand herself or stop herself from imagining the little boy on her hip and calling her mother. Looking up to her and letting her teach him about the world and his own ways of controlling chaos. 

As Yennefer lays down on her bed and closes her eyes she decides that, when all is said and done and Geralt has his stupid bard back, the child will be hers. After all, finders keepers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not give permission for my work to be shared or reposted to any other website other than as a weblink to this Archive of Our Own URL with credit given to me.


	13. Blinded by the Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He holds very still for a few moments as he recalls that memory and compares it to her recounting of it. His eyes burn with tears that he hasn’t shed in weeks as he feels a wave of relief and he reaches a shaking hand out to her in the darkness, “Oh, Yenna.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all, please don't hate me :)

When he opens his eyes, it is dark.

An all encompassing, oppressing darkness that surrounds his every sluggish thought, every stuttered movement, every breath of stale air that drags in and out of his aching lungs. If he were to raise his hand in front of his face and wave it back and forth he can imagine seeing the motion in the pitch but he knows, logically, that there is no light reaching his eyes and thus his hand remains invisible to him. He blinks and blinks and blinks and he can feel his eyelids slamming shut and fluttering open again but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s still drowning in this blackness and it won’t be long until he starts to see things that he knows aren’t there but still fill his heart with bitter fear.

He hiccups painfully as his diaphragm spasms in response to his breathing increasing alongside his swirling thoughts and the rising panic that’s as familiar to him now as his best friend. His eyes sting in turn as the sharp pain turns to a dull ache that spreads through his chest, fractured ribs and strained muscles truly are one of the most exquisite tortures. To avoid further aggravation of his wounds he focuses on his senses. Obviously not sight, the dark is unavoidable and completely static, and hearing is a no go as the only sounds in the room with him are the ones he makes except for once per day when a tray with a slice of bread and cheese and a cup of water appears beside him with a  _ pop _ not dissimilar to equalizing the pressure in your ears as you change altitude. The tray always disappears the moment he’s cleared it of its contents with a second  _ pop _ and he’s left to his silence and darkness once more.

He focuses instead on the cool wood beneath him. He didn’t appreciate it the way he should have in the beginning, but it’s the only thing helping him retain what little sanity he has left as he runs his calloused fingertips over the grain. He feels the grit of microscopic bits of wood that has loosened with time and the swirl of a knot that had been in the tree the boards were cut from, his ragged nails catch on the seams between the planks and he visualizes one of them as best he can. What kind of wood is it? Oak? Cedar? Cherry? It was cut with the grain, he can feel that much, but how detailed does the grain become? He has little sensation in his fingertips, even with the softening of his callouses from however long it’s been since his hands have caressed the gilded body of his lute. 

Jaskier takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, wincing at the pain in his battered ribs but letting the feeling of the floorboards ground him. The wall behind him, and the other three making up this room, are constructed of jagged stones that juts out in places and easily slices open his delicate skin if he isn’t careful. There’s no door in this room, and he suspects it might be underground or there’s some sort of silencing spell on it for how completely silent it is and any noise that gets past the structured fabric on his face immediately is swallowed up by the walls. His fingers drift to his jaw and the accessory that was bestowed upon him after six days. 

He wasn’t always in the darkness, at first he was strapped to a table and divulged of his shirt. He had been ambushed while staying in an inn, the damned mage stepping out of a portal into his room and touching his head before Jaskier had the chance to move at all. The next thing he knew was waking up on a wooden table, his arms and legs bound with leather straps and a cool breeze from an open window making his exposed nipples harder than diamonds. He had made sure to mention it when ranting at the magician who, for the most part, just ignored him as he poked and prodded the irate bard. Jaskier had spit insults, spun tales, and sung every possible tune he knew to try and get the sorcerer to react to him and also to hide his fear, but the magic user had ignored him until a vaguely familiar woman had joined them with an unconscious little boy in her arms.

Jaskier doesn’t really remember what happened next, when he tries to he always develops a blinding migraine that pounds at his skull. All he remembers is paroxysms of agony in his head and when he next opened his eyes he was drenched in cold sweat and the boy was gone again. He remembers wishing the mage wouldn’t pay attention to him anymore, too, as the blurred days were filled with the sharp jabs of needles and the injections of potions that burned his veins and convulsed his muscles until his skin was bruised from battering against the table and his ribs were cracked from thrashing and he had dislocated one shoulder with his contortions against the bindings. 

Then he broke a window with his screams.

The mage, whose name eludes Jaskier even now he thinks it might be Stroganoff?, had looked delighted by this magical development and instead of injecting him with more potions decided to put Jaskier in the darkness for the first time. He remembers clearly the confusion and hysteria that built within him as his senses were deprived like a potato placed in the coals of a fire without the skin being pierced first. The pressure grew steadily and then skyrocketed when he first began to hallucinate in the silence until he screamed himself bloody and the pressure exploded with the first taste of copper on his tongue, blasting down the door when the room still had one. 

He had heard the door splinter as it was blown off its hinges but the despair he felt when no light reached his eyes crippled him for just a second too long and the sorcerer had run in. There was the prick of something piercing his shoulder and when he next opened his eyes there was the fabric molded around his jaw, covering his mouth and strapped around the back of his head to hold it in place. The magic it’s imbued with makes his skin prickle and the cloth itself chafes and rubs away any facial hair that attempts to grow. The muzzle has no buckles and only disappears when the tray of food appears, snapping back into place the moment the tray vanishes again.

Jaskier hums weakly and lets his head fall back against the wall as he shivers, wrapping his thin arms around himself in an attempt to thermoregulate. He can feel all twenty four of his ribs when he runs his fingers over his torso, counting them and then deducting the five cracked ribs for nineteen uninjured bones protecting his lungs and heart. The organ beats lazily in his chest, pulsing slowly as it’s weighed down by the same fatigue that dogs at his shaking body all day long. He aches for a bath to clean the grime of blood and sweat and, embarrassingly, vomit off of him. What he wouldn’t give for a tub of hot water to soothe his taut muscles and sore bones, the scents of chamomile and rose in the air from the salts in the bath and the feeling of strong, warm hands caressing his battered skin.

As he begins to daydream about golden eyes and scarred hands he feels the familiar buzz of magic in the air become more intense and nearly starts to weep. Why can’t he have just one day without the torment? One day to imagine and dream to his heart’s content? Jaskier gave up on praying long ago, his hope isn’t gone but it’s shriveled to a small husk of what it used to be as a portal opens up in front of him and light streams through but it doesn’t meet his eyes.

He wants to cry but his face remains dry as Geralt steps through the portal with a fearsome expression and his sword in hand and he looks down at Jaskier with disdain. So it’s one of those days, huh? He sighs and blinks and the vision doesn’t go away, reinforcing that what he’s seeing is an illusion and not even one of the good ones. Spatchcock must be feeling lazy today, Jaskier thinks idly as he tilts his face towards the fake Witcher apathetically.

“I’ve come to fix your mess,” not-Geralt growls and Jaskier just sighs, both in resignation and a little irritation at the pang of hurt that still flashes through his heart at the illusion’s words. He’s been subjected to enough of these that he knows they’re not real, even the most realistic ones, the ones that are  _ so close _ to reality that Jaskier kept getting fooled until he learned not to trust them. It’s difficult though, to be reminded so frequently of your shortcomings via the mouth of the man you love most in the world. 

Sure, Geralt has pointed out many of Jaskier’s flaws over the years, but there are things he shouldn’t have known about that he’s laid bare before the bard as an illusion--  _ the sweet taste of belladonna on his tongue, fire on his back as leather snaps and flays his skin open, the creaking of a wooden bedframe and the grunts of his father in his ear _ \-- and it should reaffirm that it’s not real, it’s just an illusion, but it still makes something twist in his gut to hear the filth that taints Jaskier’s past spill from the lips of his beloved.

“I only came because I felt guilty,” not-Geralt snarls at him and Jaskier feels his eyes move but his vision doesn’t shift away from the Witcher looming over him, “I didn’t want your death on my conscience, if you weren’t tangled up with Stregobor I wouldn’t have come at all.”

Jaskier shrugs with one shoulder, his other one too stiff to move without pain after it was popped back into the socket too roughly and pinched something. It’s probably not a good sign that it’s been weeks since then, at least he thinks it has been, and he still can’t move it. He sighs again and settles in to listen to whatever long rant about how useless and pathetic he is that not-Geralt has planned, another sign that this is an illusion because on what planet would Geralt spare that many words for him? Even confessing his feelings to Jaskier, the Witcher had stuttered and stammered for all of two sentences and ended up snogging him senseless to get the point across.

Not-Geralt opens his mouth again to start talking when the illusion suddenly dissipates, plunging Jaskier back into darkness that he knows he never left in the first place because his eyes never felt the sting of light on them. His brows draw together in confusion, that’s never happened before and it’s just different enough for him to dedicate some of his waning energy to. What happened to make the imagery stop? 

He draws his knees to his chest in the darkness and ignores both the throb of his ribs from the movement and the sound of Yennefer’s voice in the dark speaking his name. He’s very used to the auditory hallucinations that the silence of the room brings, even if they make him vaguely uncomfortable sometimes, so he tunes her out. Then he realizes the illusion must still be ongoing, Spaghetti just changed it suddenly for whatever reason, since he can almost feel the vibrations of footsteps on the floorboards in addition to Halluci-nnefer trying to get his attention. He’s so tired.

Then a hand touches his arm.

The thing about Stromboli’s illusions is that they never, ever touch him. The walls, the floor, shit even the ceiling are all fair game to be shaken and affected and in turn he can feel  _ those _ , but the illusions never touch him.

And he’s just been touched on the arm by a distinctly human hand that definitely doesn’t belong to Silverbeet and Jaskier nearly leaps out of his skin with a muffled shriek. Terror strikes through his heart and he scrambles away from whoever is in the darkness with him, the stone wall tearing at his back and arm as he hugs it until he’s huddled in the corner, his eyes searching the black for whoever touched him.

“Jaskier, quit being so dramatic, it’s just me,” Yennefer’s voice says from somewhere in front of him and he feels a bit lightheaded from all the sudden activity when all he’s eaten for however long he’s been here is a single slice of stale bread and a cheese everyday, “You need to stay still if you want me to get that off of your face.”

He freezes, his heart pounding so hard it feels like it’s going to break through some of his remaining ribs and fly right out of his chest. Is this another illusion? Is it a hallucination? He’s imagined feeling things before, but never so suddenly like that, it’s always been prefaced with his mind wandering and letting himself daydream to pass the time. Could this be real? Could Yennefer really be here? There’s some sort of high-pitched whining sound filling the room that’s making it very difficult to think as his panicked thoughts swirl chaotically and his bony fingers grip at his greasy hair, his palms covering his ears to try and block out Yennefer’s voice. Which works as her attempts to grab his attention again become muffled but it also draws his focus to the fact that the noise is  _ him _ making a desperate keening sound with each quick exhale as he totters on the edge of hyperventilating.

The fingers are back again as they touch his face and he recoils so quickly that his head bashes against the stone wall hard enough to make him see stars, the sharp scent of blood filling the air and startling him out of his spiral. The heavy weight of the muzzle is gone from his face and he lets his fingers sluggishly drift to the smarting, raw skin of his jaw as he draws shuddering breaths in through his mouth. The air is cold on his tongue and his breath hitches and catches on a stifled sob of relief, please gods let this be real.

“Ye-Yennefer?” He whispers, her name a bit slurred from the fog in his head that only got worse when he hit it against the wall.

He hears her sigh and he thinks it might be in relief but it could be irritation, it’s hard to tell, but regardless of what emotion her exhalation is evoking her voice is softer as he hears her skirts swish across the floor and the edges of them brush his knees as she crouches down before him, “Yes, it’s me. I’m sorry it took so long to find you, Stregobor hid you well.”

So  _ that’s _ the sorcerer’s name, kind of a shit name if you ask Jaskier. He wants to ask Yennefer if this is real, if she’s actually come for him, and if so where’s Geralt; but, if this is another illusion it would make sense for her to tell him it’s real just to trick him and destroy his hope even further than the empty husk it is currently. Apparently he’s silent for too long as he gets a gentle prompting from Yennefer, “Jaskier?”

His mind races to think of a way to debunk an illusion.  _ Stregobor _ , for that’s his name, did take a look inside Jaskier’s head for content to make the illusions from, inspiration if you will. But Jaskier knows that the sorcerer must not have gone very deep in his memories and thoughts since most of what illusion-Geralt would spit at him were his insecurities, which are almost always on Jaskier’s mind. 

“T-tell me some-something only you would kn-know,” his eyes still search the darkness for her face as he makes his demand, he needs to know if this is real or not.

“What?”

“Tell me s-something only you w-would know,” he repeats more firmly and he can almost imagine her rocking back on her heels to think.

She exhales forcefully and pats her hands together gently, his eyes flicking towards where the sounds come from in the black of the room, “Okay. A month after Sodden Hill, so my hands were still all scarred and I was superheated, we crossed paths and you told me that I’d finally done it. I asked you what you meant and you said that I was officially the hottest person you knew.”

He holds very still for a few moments as he recalls that memory and compares it to her recounting of it. His eyes burn with tears that he hasn’t shed in weeks as he feels a wave of relief and he reaches a shaking hand out to her in the darkness, “Oh,  _ Yenna _ .”

She slips her smaller hand in his and grasps it tightly before pulling him forward into her embrace, the achingly familiar smell of gooseberries and lilac filling his nose, “I’m here, Julie. It’s really me, I’m here and I’ve got you and we’re gonna get you out of here.” He sniffles at the affectionate nickname she gives him, one that started out as a way to spark his ire when she learned his real name but eventually morphed into a term of endearment that she only breaks out once in a blue moon.

“W-we?”

He feels her hair move against his face as she nods, “Geralt’s taking care of Stregobor as we speak. He’s safe, just making sure that bastard can’t escape before we take him to the Brotherhood.”

As if on cue, a door Jaskier didn’t know was in the room opens on squeaking hinges and he feels a moment of confusion as light still doesn’t reach his eyes before it’s brushed away to be dealt with later when he hears Geralt’s sharp inhale from somewhere near the floor. Jaskier’s eyes dart downwards as he desperately searches the darkness for his lover’s white hair and golden eyes, listening as Geralt clambers gracelessly through the trapdoor that must have been in the floorboards.

“ _ Geralt _ ,” Jaskier pulls away from Yennefer and shifts onto his knees, afraid to stand up or say more in case he loses himself to the rising waves of emotion. He hears Geralt drop heavily to his knees before strong arms wrap around him, gathering the bard close to his Witcher’s warm chest without squeezing so tightly it hurts his injuries any more than they’re already aching. Jaskier throws his arms around Geralt’s waist and buries his face into the hard leather of the Witcher’s armor.

“Jaskier,  _ Jask _ , Jask,” Geralt is murmuring into Jaskier’s hair and the bard suddenly remembers that he hasn’t bathed in ages, his cheeks warming up with chagrin.

“Sorry, I um,” he clears his hoarse throat to try and smooth his rough voice a bit, “am probably in need of a bath.” Geralt tenses up and Jaskier’s heart leaps into his throat as he wonders if he somehow said something wrong until the Witcher’s shoulders start to shake and he begins laughing against the crown of the bard’s head. “What uh, what’s so funny?”

“Jaskier, you’ve been kidnapped and experimented on for nigh on two months now and the first thing you say to me is an apology for smelling ripe?” Geralt laughs heartily, the joyous sound filled with happiness and relief.

Jaskier finds himself grinning for the first time in a very long time, his cheeks aching almost immediately as he pretends to be indignant, “Oh! Oh, pardon me, Sir Witcher, but  _ some _ of us still have  _ manners _ !”

“Gods I missed you,” Geralt says before crashing their lips together. It’s clumsy as their noses bump and teeth clack together because they’re both smiling into it and it’s far from their first kiss by any means but it’s one that’s a perfect kiss.

“Alright, lovebirds,” Yennefer interrupts them a few moments later, “I’ve taken the wizard where he needs to go, dropped him off with Tissaia at Aretuza, so let’s get this show on the road.” Jaskier feels the tell-tale signs of the chaos in the room increasing in frequency and he stiffens up. 

He doesn’t see a portal.

Stregobor must have gone deeper into Jaskier’s mind than he thought, how else would the sorcerer know about what happened after Sodden Hill? But Geralt and Yennefer feel so real… But Jaskier doesn’t see a portal in the room, and there was no light that came through the alleged trapdoor he heard open up out of the floor. But the magic in the room keeps fluctuating from the resting state he’s become familiar with to being in use like when the illusions are around and Yennefer and Geralt’s presence never wavered. What if the feeling of the magic is part of the illusions too? What if everything has been fake? What if Jaskier’s still just strapped to that table and his head is splitting open as magic reaches into his mind and rips it to little bitty shreds-

“Jaskier!”

He’s breathing hard and fast and he can feel that Geralt’s arms have loosened enough to let him lean away but the Witcher isn’t letting go of him even though Jaskier has pulled his hands close to his chest protectively. “This isn’t real,” Jaskier gasps and shakes his head, wincing as it throbs in response and reminds him that he hit it against the wall earlier.

“What do you mean?” He can hear Geralt’s frown and tears are prickling at his eyes again and he wants to cry but he refuses to let Stregobor see him cry again. “Of course this is real, we’ve come to rescue you.”

“No! No, this isn’t real, it’s not real,” Jaskier moans and grabs his hair, pulling free of Geralt’s arms and falling back against the sharp wall, “I can’t see the portal. I feel it because of the illusion but I can’t see it so it’s not real!”

He hears Yennefer’s footsteps approach and the movement of fabric as she crouches down beside him, “Jaskier,” she says calmly, “Before you write this off as a trick, tell me what you see.”

“What?” He looks in her direction incredulously, “What do you mean? Are you daft? I can’t see anything, it’s pitch black in here! That’s why I should be able to see your portal if you opened it to someplace with light in it.”

Silence.

As the silence stretches Jaskier’s fear grows and he becomes agitated, his eyes flitting back and forth between where he thinks they are in the darkness, “What is it? Where did you go? Did you leave? I didn’t hear you leave but if this is an illusion I guess I wouldn’t have. You were saying this is real though, is it? Or did you leave?”

“We’re right here still, Jask,” Geralt quickly reassures him and Jaskier feels the Witcher’s hand on his knee, “This is real, I promise you.”

“Then why aren’t you talking? What’s going on?”

“Jaskier,” Yennefer says gently, “Can you see my hand?” He feels the air shift in front of his face so he moves his eyes to look there but even as he searches the darkness he can’t see it and a sinking suspicion begins to form.

“N-No…” 

The sorceress lays her hand lightly on his unhurt shoulder, squeezing it softly before she speaks, “The room isn’t dark, Jaskier, and I just had fire in my hand in front of your face.”

He feels the blood drain from his face as his stomach plummets through the floor, a wave of dizziness making him sway as he’s hit with this new realization. Whatever Stregobor was doing to him didn’t just make him a little magical, it had a cost, just like all chaos does. 

He’s blind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not give permission for my work to be shared or reposted to any other website other than as a weblink to this Archive of Our Own URL with credit given to me.


	14. Lightning in a Bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hums softly and tears his eyes away from Lambert so he can think. His bad feelings are starting to go away, which means he was probably feeling worried, but he still feels sad and angry and he huffs as he mulls over what he wants to say. It’s frustrating, being seven and not having all the words you could need to tell someone something, and Julian can feel that rising irritation fluttering in his stomach as he attempts to get his thoughts in order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're so close to the end, I'm kinda sad. On another note, this chapter is exactly 5,000 words. How about that.

Julian’s eyes are sticky and prickly when he wakes up, bringing his fists to his face to rub away the crust left behind by sleep. He pushes himself up on one hand and looks around the room blearily, the covers of his bed falling back with a soft rustle that makes the dozing Witcher near the smoldering hearth jerk awake. Julian yawns loudly as he swings his feet over the edge of the bed, glancing out the window at the clear blue sky before turning his attention back to Lambert who is looking guilty.

Julian frowns as he tries to think about what his friend could be harboring guilt about and then gasps softly as he remembers everything that happened the day before. The questions, getting upset, Lambert yelling at him, screaming, things breaking, finding out his things actually belong to Geralt’s friend, Yenna putting him to sleep, sleeping without any bad dreams for the first time he can remember… He sniffles and pulls his knees to his chest as he’s overwhelmed with bad feelings, he’s not sure which ones but he thinks he feels sad and angry the most.

“Kid?” Lambert says softly and Julian looks up at him with another miserable sniffle. Can he trust Lambert to not yell at him again? Will Lambert keep asking him bad questions? Will Julian have to tell him about his bad dreams and bad thoughts? “Are you okay?”

He swallows and looks down at his knees as he thinks about his answer to a question he wasn’t sure he was expecting. Is he okay? His feelings are bad because yesterday was bad but that doesn’t mean today has to be bad, too. Maybe today can be better. He’s not sure if he’s okay though so he shrugs and glances around the room, “How come we’re in Geralt’s room?”

Lambert scratches the back of his neck awkwardly before leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, letting his hands hang loosely between them, “He told me you like to come in and sleep with him after having bad dreams so he figured you would be most comfortable waking up here. Is that okay?”

Julian looks at Lambert again and blinks twice before nodding gently, “I guess so. Where is he?”

“He and Yennefer went to go get his friend,” Lambert says quietly, “They’re supposed to be back later today. She got lots of rest and then was able to figure out where Jaskier is.”

“Where is he?”

The Witcher sighs and looks away for a long moment before turning his golden eyes back on Julian, “Jaskier, Geralt’s friend, is with a very bad guy. It’s really important that they rescue him.”

Julian’s eyes widen and he pulls his knees closer to his chest, tucking his chin against them as he asks nervously, “He’s in danger?”

“Yeah, but Geralt and Yen are gonna get him out and-”

“No, not Geralt’s friend,” Julian shakes his head with a frown, “Geralt’s in danger?”

Lambert blinks in surprise and then looks very sad for a few moments. Julian wonders why and thinks about asking as his friend answers, “No, Geralt’s not in danger. He has Yennefer with him and this very bad guy is someone Geralt is familiar with so he knows what to expect.”

Julian frowns more and slips his hands between his chin and his knees, “Wouldn’t the bad guy know what to expect with Geralt, too?”

“Nope, ‘cause Geralt and Yen are gonna have the drop on that bastard. Yennefer doesn’t think the bad guy knows that we know he has Jaskier.”

He hums softly and tears his eyes away from Lambert so he can think. His bad feelings are starting to go away, which means he was probably feeling worried, but he still feels sad and angry and he huffs as he mulls over what he wants to say. It’s frustrating, being seven and not having all the words you could need to tell someone something, and Julian can feel that rising irritation fluttering in his stomach as he attempts to get his thoughts in order.

Finally, he blurts out, “How come you yelled at me? And asked me all those bad questions? I didn’t want to play that game anymore and you wouldn’t let me stop playing,” Julian’s frown is deep and troubled as he whispers, “Why wouldn’t you let me stop?”

Lambert looks pained and runs a hand over his short-cropped hair, taking a deep and shuddering breath before letting it out in a fast whoosh, “I… We thought that there’s a curse on you, and that it might be tied to the bad things that have happened to you. But we don’t know all the bad things that have happened to you, which is why we were playing that game. And then…” His voice fades and Julian watches him closely.

“And then?”

“And then, I wasn’t thinking about the curse or that game anymore. I was thinking about how you might feel better if you acknowledged the bad things that happened to you; but the bad things also made me feel scared, and when I get scared I get angry. It’s not an excuse though, Julian, and I’m very sorry for scaring you and yelling at you,” Lambert sighs heavily, looking at Julian with sad and tired eyes.

Julian bites his lip and hums a little thinking tune as he contemplates the apology and explanation. Lambert’s never yelled at him before, and he can understand getting angry when feeling scared since Geralt does that, too and so does Julian sometimes. He pops his lips a few times and pats his hands on his knees before nodding, “Okay, I forgive you. Just don’t do it again, yeah?”

Lambert looks at the boy in surprise before nodding quickly, “Yeah, yes, of course. I’ll never do it again, I promise. So… we’re okay?”

Julian jumps up and runs across the room to throw his arms around Lambert’s neck, hoping to banish the sadness in his friend’s eyes, “Yeah! Super duper okay, Lambert. You’re my best friend and you were scared, it’s okay.”

The Witcher swallows thickly and wraps his arms around Julian’s small frame, lifting the boy into his lap and burying his nose in Julian’s soft hair with a choked grunt, “Cool, you’re my best friend, too, kid.” The child hums happily and presses his face into Lambert’s shoulder, content to sit there for a while until Lambert breaks the silence again, “Can I ask you a question?”

Julian pulls back without letting go of his best friend, regarding Lambert warily as he nods, “Uh-huh. What is it?”

“If Eskel didn’t pretend around you anymore, would you be more comfortable with him?”

The child sucks his bottom lip into his mouth to chew on it as he looks around the room before nodding, “Probably. I don’t like it when people hide stuff from me.”

“Okay,” Lambert rubs Julian’s back soothingly, “I’ll tell him that so he can try to not hide things from you. Do you know what a habit is, though?” Julian nods, looking up at Lambert as his friend speaks. “Well, Eskel’s made it a habit of hiding his bad emotions so he might still hide them on accident sometimes.”

Julian looks down at his feet as he swings them, his legs straddling Lambert’s lap and his arms still loosely wrapped around the Witcher’s neck. He leans back to hang limply and sways side to side, letting his body swing back and forth and his hair swishes against Lambert’s knees. It makes a nice sound and Julian gets distracted by it before he can reply.

“Julian?”

“Hm?”

“Do you understand? That Eskel still might hide his emotions sometimes by accident?”

He sighs and lifts his head to look at Lambert and nods, “Yeah, I understand. Can we go get breakfast? I’m hungry. Maybe we have some blueberries now, probably not though, and then Ciri can braid my hair after breakfast or maybe you can. And I can say good morning to Roach and Jasmine and Buttercup and Midnight and Lil Beater and I guess Vesemir and Eskel, too. And then when we’re all done with all that maybe Geralt and Yenna will be back with Geralt’s friend. What was his name again?”

Lambert has a small smile on his face and he looks less worried even as he still looks very sad, “Jaskier. He’s a bard.”

“What’s that mean? It sounds like lard, which is pig fat. Does that make Jaskier fat?”

The Witcher laughs and shakes his head, “Nah, Jaskier’s a skinny son of a bitch. Looks like a twig because of the clothes he wears but he’s plenty strong underneath them.”

“You’ve seen him without clothes on?” Julian looks shocked and Lambert shifts the boy so he’s seated on the Witcher’s hip as Lambert stands.

“Just without a shirt one time since it got a drink spilled on it, nothing scandalous, kid.” Julian opens his mouth to speak again but Lambert cuts him off, “Thought you wanted breakfast? We can see if we have any blueberries for your porridge.” 

There aren’t any blueberries since those are out of season and also the snow has piled high enough against the doors of the keep to make it difficult to leave. Julian grumbles and complains as he forces himself to choke down his bland porridge, the honey that Lambert added for him only taking off the very edge of the milk soaked oats. After breakfast, Julian seeks out Ciri and the girl does braid his hair for him in a simple plait that runs along the crown of his head and tickles the back of his neck. He wants to look nice for Geralt’s friend after all, he understands that this is a very important friend.

Once Julian has said good morning to all of the horses, Lil Beater, the plants in the green house, the spiders that live in the library, Vesemir, the ants in the kitchen, and even Eskel, he can’t help but be disappointed that Geralt and Yennefer aren’t back yet with this Jaskier person. He sulks around for a while before finding Ciri again and plopping down beside her in the Great Hall where she’s eating a sandwich and reading a book. He tries reading over her shoulder for a bit but gives up when the material never gets interesting, just talking about magic and chaos and flowers.

“When are they getting back?” He sighs and lets his head thunk down on the table. Normally he’d go digging through his pack for something to do but since Yennefer emptied it out he doesn’t feel the need to keep all his things with him anymore so he just has Gregory tucked safely into his doublet.

Ciri shrugs with a small yawn, turning the page of her book and Julian listens to the paper crinkle, “Dunno, bud. Sometime before supper.”

“But it’s mid-afternoon already! Supper will be in just a couple hours!” He flails his arms in faux-outrage and Ciri glances sideways at him with an amused smile. She doesn’t say anything though and he groans in frustration, turning his face back into the table and when he speaks next his voice is muffled by the wood, “What’s Geralt’s friend like? Have you met him?”

Ciri looks over at Julian before carefully placing a silk ribbon in the book to mark her page as she closes it and she nods, “I have. He’s a bard so he plays music and sings songs and does dances and he used to visit me when I was a princess every year for my birthday.”

“Is he nice?” Julian rocks his head back and forth on his forehead before tipping it onto its side so he can look up at her.

“He’s very nice. Jaskier is funny and kind and says silly things and makes silly faces. He acts like kind of a foolish person but he’s wicked smart underneath it all. Kinda like you,” she reaches out and tweaks his nose and Julian sticks his tongue out at her.

Julian is quiet for a few moments until he thinks of a new question, “You said that Jaskier is Geralt’s best friend, but Lambert just says he’s Geralt’s regular friend, and Vesemir says Jaskier is a special friend. What’s the right one?”

Ciri hums thoughtfully as she rests her cheek on her fist and appraises Julian for a while, “All of them are right, I suppose. He’s Geralt’s best friend and also a very special friend and when you’re somebody’s best friend you’re also their regular friend.”

“What does it mean when you say special friend? Is there a better friend than best friend?” Julian frowns as he becomes troubled, he’s always called Lambert his _best_ friend but maybe he should be using _special_ friend?

“It means that Geralt and Jaskier are in love with each other but they’re still sort of courting each other,” Ciri chuckles softly, “It’s just a different kind of friend, you can be someone’s best friend and their special friend.” He grimaces and decides that he will definitely _not_ be using the term ‘special friend’ for Lambert. Best friend works just fine, thank you very much. Julian opens his mouth to ask another question but closes it again as Lambert and Eskel both hurry into the room from outside where they had been digging out the wood pile and even Vesemir comes out of the kitchen. 

The boy looks at them all curiously for a moment until there’s the tell-tale _crack_ of a portal opening and he spins around to kneel on his chair and peer over the back of it. Through the portal he can see a plain stone room with a wooden floor covered in dark, splotchy stains but other than that he doesn’t see anything else about where Geralt and Yennefer had gone. Yennefer steps out of the portal first, looking tired and pale but otherwise as pretty as always and she keeps her hand raised to hold the swirling portal open. Geralt comes through next and he also looks fine aside from the dark shadows under his eyes and his hair is a little messy. Geralt’s arm is around the waist of an extremely thin man, the man’s arm draped across Geralt’s shoulders and the Witcher’s other hand pressed supportively to the man’s chest. This must be Jaskier.

Julian is afraid of Jaskier.

Jaskier is tall like Geralt but instead of being soft and big with muscles, Jaskier is skinny and pointy like a skeleton, his shirt and trousers loosely hanging off of him. He has dark brown hair that’s greasy and hangs across his forehead and over his ears in limp mats. His eyes are bright blue like Julian’s but even as Jaskier blinks and looks around the room Julian can tell he’s not actually _seeing_ anything, his eyes never stopping to focus on anything and his head twitching towards sounds instead. The scariest thing about Jaskier, though, is that he looks like he has lightning running through him. Bright white veins fracture and spider web across the skin of his hands, his arms, his face. It’s like when Lambert takes a Witcher potion but instead of being black around his eyes it’s white and it’s all over his body.

Julian takes a shaking breath and Jaskier’s head turns towards him, his unseeing eyes searching for the source of the uneasy sound and he speaks in a soft, velvety murmur to Geralt, “Was that him?”

Geralt grunts in response before muttering, “Let’s get you in a real bed, Jask.”

“Not before I greet the boy properly, my darling Witcher,” Jaskier protests with a small smile and Geralt is smiling back as Jaskier turns his head to try and look at the Witcher holding him upright, his blue eyes not quite settling on the man directly beside him. Geralt’s smile is a strange full of both immense joy and immeasurable grief; it’s one that makes Julian feel like he wants to cry just from looking at it. “Now be a dear and help a man show his respect.”

“If you bow you’re gonna faint,” Geralt rolls his eyes and Jaskier waves his boney hand dismissively.

“Nonsense, a little vertigo is the price we pay sometimes for a proper greeting.”

“Jaskier, you genuinely don’t have enough blood to not pass out if you bend over, I’m not gonna help you bow to Julian right now,” Geralt sighs but even though he’s bickering with Jaskier he looks happier than Julian’s ever seen him before, “I’m sure the kid doesn’t mind, do you Julian?”

Jaskier turns his head towards Julian even though the child has not made any sound yet and he ends up with his eyes blankly gazing over Ciri’s head. Julian shudders involuntarily at the unsettling sight and squeaks out, “Um, n-no. It’s alright.”

“See? Now let’s get you to bed.”

Jaskier sighs dramatically but acquiesces, allowing Geralt to lead him and half carry him out of the hall. As they pass, Julian hunkers down further into the chair and hears Jaskier murmur, “Did I really sound like that as a sprog? No wonder my parents behaved the way they did.”

“Jask, we’ve talked about using humor as a way to cope,” Geralt says in a voice gentler than anything Julian’s heard him use before. They’re too far away for him to hear Jaskier’s quiet response and he watches with wide eyes as they exit the Great Hall, the door closing behind them with a soft thump. 

There’s complete silence for ten long seconds before Ciri whispers in a distraught voice, “ _Gods_ , Jaskier.”

Before anyone else can speak, Vesemir quickly says, “Let’s save our speculations and questions for when the sorceress can provide answers, yes? Best to return to work for now and we’ll find out more later.” Eskel and Lambert glance at each other before nodding and silently going back outside. Vesemir looks sadly at Ciri and then Julian, which Julian doesn’t understand why people keep looking at him sad and he’s very close to asking if they don’t knock it off, and the elder Witcher reenters the kitchen.

“What was wrong with him?” Julian asks Ciri, looking over at the ashen girl.

She just shakes her head and whispers, “I don’t know.”

It’s not until halfway through supper that they find out, Yennefer sweeping into the hall and all but collapsing into her chair as she begins piling food onto her plate and devouring it with gusto. Geralt has not emerged from wherever he is with Jaskier, and Vesemir had warned Julian not to expect the white wolf for supper tonight at all. They all wait as patiently as they can until Yennefer is no longer eating like she’s starving, slowing down enough to hold a conversation and gesturing wordlessly for them to ask their questions.

“The veins?” Lambert asks first, his lips pulled down into a deep frown.

“Scars. Magically induced. I’m unable to remove them without resources that can only be found in Aretuza,” Yennefer sips her wine before changing her mind and deciding to take a gulp of it instead, “It would probably require the same process mages go through to become beautiful to remove them.”

There’s a pause as this sinks in before Ciri hesitantly speaks, “What’s wrong with his eyes?”

The sorceress sighs and refills her wine glass wearily, “Also a magically induced injury. I can’t reverse it.”

“So he’s blind? Forever?”

“I’m afraid so,” Yennefer looks genuinely remorseful about this and Ciri covers her mouth to stifle a small sob, her own gray eyes welling with tears.

Eskel is the one to speak next, softly asking, “What happened to the bard?”

Violet eyes glance at Julian and Yennefer pauses as she considers her words carefully, “Stregobor is unhinged. Brilliant, but unhinged. His… experiments often pushed the boundaries of magic as his ultimate goal was to see who could or couldn’t wield chaos. Did the mage have to have a predisposition for it? Could an ordinary human with nothing _other_ in their veins master it? How do different species react to it? Questions of this nature and many more are all notated in his research which I’ve turned in to the Brotherhood.”

“Okay, but what happened to Jaskier?” Lambert repeats Eskel’s question, leaning his forearms on the table emphatically.

Yennefer sighs and rubs her eyes delicately, “Stregobor used him as a test subject for various methods to encourage a quarter fae into accessing their inherent chaos. From potions to physical abuse to sensory deprivation to illusions. I’m not going to say anything more in depth with Julian present, it’s just a little too adult for you, child.”

“Jaskier’s a quarter fae?” Ciri asks in surprise, wiping her eyes and sniffling, “I suppose it would explain why he doesn’t seem to age.”

“And his natural affinity for enchanting people with his music,” the sorceress adds with a nod, “What we all thought was purely a metaphor, himself included, is much more literal than we were previously led to believe. Jaskier didn’t even know he wasn’t fully human, most likely it was a tryst of one of his grandparents.”

“Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree then, huh?” Ciri jokes weakly and there’s a quiet ripple of half-hearted chuckles around the table.

“I suppose not, cub,” Yennefer murmurs before shaking her head, “the fair folk all have a natural affinity for chaos, no matter how small their heritage. Anyone less than half, however... it was believed they couldn’t control any magic they used and it would be little things with no bearings on anything else. Like slowed aging, or encouraging people to like your music, or being able to find a Witcher every Spring for twenty years.

“Stregobor obviously wanted to see if there was a way to force a connection to chaos in someone who was more human than creature, so their tie to chaos was less of a trickle and more of a river. Jaskier told me he was injected with so many potions he lost track of the number, the potions are what caused the scarring. Stregobor was successful though, Jaskier now has access to his magics, but not without terrible cost.”

“His sight,” Vesemir murmurs and Yennefer nods in confirmation. Everyone falls silent in contemplation and don’t seem to notice as Julian gets up from his seat and slips away from the table, slowly winding his way down to the medical wing and peeking inside.

Jaskier is laying on a bed that’s piled high with furs to keep the skeletal man warm as he sleeps and Geralt is sat in a chair at his side, Jaskier’s hand clasped between both of the Witcher’s as he holds the bard’s fingers against his lips. Geralt’s eyes never stray from Jaskier’s face and Julian feels like he’s watching something private as he observes the tender look on the White Wolf’s normally taciturn face. Julian purses his lips together uncomfortably and slips away again, deciding to go to bed early for once.

When he awakens to a nightmare as he usually does, Julian gets his crying under control before venturing out of his room into the moonlit halls. He goes to Geralt’s room and knocks before entering like he does every night but he frowns when he sees that the Witcher’s room is cold and dark and empty. He then silently weaves his way down to the medical wing to see if that’s where his white-haired Witcher is posted and sure enough, Geralt is still seated exactly where he was when Julian saw him last.

The boy feels a pang of jealousy but shoves it away for now. Of course Geralt wants to spend time with Jaskier, he's Geralt’s love and badly injured to boot. It would be cruel of Julian to demand the Witcher’s attention right now. Besides, he just has to wait until Jaskier is out of the infirmary before things will go back to normal.

Things don’t go back to normal.

Geralt spends as much time as he possibly can in the infirmary with Jaskier, talking to the bard when he’s awake and remaining at Jaskier’s side as he slumbers. Jaskier remains in the infirmary for three days before he’s cleared to be someplace else and Julian assumes Jaskier will be getting his own room, just like everybody else, and is shocked when he comes to sleep with Geralt after a nightmare and sees Jaskier laying in Geralt’s bed, those scary white scars lit up with the moonlight.

He runs away and seeks out Lambert instead, crawling into the bed of his best friend for comfort that night. The next morning Julian asks Geralt if that’s how things are going to be now, with Jaskier sleeping in Geralt’s bed, and Geralt says yes but he’s certain that Jaskier won’t mind Julian joining them if the boy has a nightmare. Julian can’t help but feel like he’s being replaced by this person he doesn’t even like and spits out that it won’t be necessary since he’ll be sleeping with his real friends from now on. His jealousy makes him storm off after that and he misses the wounded but sad expression on Geralt’s face.

Julian just really doesn’t like Jaskier. The man is scary to look at and he’s stealing Geralt away from Julian and the handful of times he’s been asked to bring Jaskier food he goes in and drops it off as quickly as he can before leaving again. It’s when he’s making his escape after delivering a plate of lunch to Jaskier while Geralt is helping repair part of the keep when Julian hears his name fall from the lips of the scarred man.

“Julian,” Jaskier’s tone is gentle and coaxing so Julian pauses and turns to look at the bard’s empty eyes.

“What?”

“I hate to ask this of you, but I feel like no one will tell me what I actually look like now,” Jaskier chuckles softly, “I’m certain nobody has any problems with the scars, but they won’t tell me how they look. My physical appearance is integral to being a bard so I was hoping you might tell me.”

Julian nervously glances at the door but nods and steps closer to the bed again where Jaskier is sitting up criss cross on top of the furs with his spindly arms resting atop a wooden string instrument, “You look like lightning in a bottle.”

Jaskier’s smile is soft as he thinks about that, “Lightning in a bottle, huh? And is it scary?”

“A little bit,” the boy answers honestly, “But it’s not so bad.”

There’s a gentle hum from the bard before he murmurs to Julian a quiet but heartfelt, “Thank you.” The child nods and watches Jaskier for a lingering moment and then scurries out of the room, his heart suddenly pounding. 

He warms up considerably to Jaskier after that. Ciri was right, the troubadour is funny and silly and tells wonderful stories and sings amazing songs. Jaskier gets stronger and Geralt takes him for walks around the keep to make sure his legs don’t stop working and he’s learning how to tell where sounds are coming from because Julian’s found himself with that unfocused gaze upon his face more than once recently. Julian’s almost able to forget the lightning scars and unsettling eyes as he spends time with Jaskier each day and volunteers to bring the man his lunch every afternoon.

It’s one of these times that he hears talking inside Geralt’s room where Jaskier stays most days since he can’t get around the keep without his vision just yet. Julian can’t quite make out what they voices are saying but it sounds like Yennefer is talking the most with Jaskier punctuating her speech with bits of his own. Curiosity burns within Julian so he sets the plate of food on the ground and places his hands on the door, leaning forward to press his ear against it.

“...extremely dangerous for you and we’d be erasing the last two months for him. I personally think the risks are worth the rewards though, Jaskier, and you should do it,” Yennefer is saying and there’s a heavy silence before Jaskier speaks.

“I understand the dangers of what you’re suggesting, Yen, but I think it’s important to ask Julian what he would like to do,” Jaskier’s voice is calm and pleasant, like they’re talking about the weather and not something potentially dangerous.

“Why? He’s just a boy. Not even that, he’s just a siren that Stregobor plucked from a nest of others and decided to put part of you into his head. Julian wouldn’t even remember ever being you or having your memories after this procedure.” Julian frowns at Yennefer’s callous words. Are they true? Is that what she really thinks of him? 

Jaskier chuckles good-naturedly, “It’s still important to ask him, Yenna. My memories became his the moment he was made to believe he was Julian Alfred Pankratz, who are we to tell him that’s not who he is if that’s all he knows?”

There’s a pause where Geralt mutters something indistinguishable through the door and Yennefer sighs, “Alright, we’ll talk to Julian about it. You’re right, this decision doesn’t just affect you.”

“Of course I’m right, I’m always right. It’s nice of you to acknowledge it for once though, Yennefer darling,” Jaskier teases and Julian decides to just leave the plate of food outside the door so he doesn’t disrupt their discussion. He agonizes over it all day, what it is that they’re going to ask him about, what incredibly important decision he has to make, and it’s while he’s cleaning out Lil Beater’s pen that Yennefer finds him, kneeling down beside the pen to be on the same height as Julian before she speaks.

“We have to discuss something important, Julian. About you and Jaskier.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not give permission for my work to be shared or reposted to any other website other than as a weblink to this Archive of Our Own URL with credit given to me.


	15. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, what’s going on?” Eskel asks bluntly as he crosses his arms and blocks Geralt’s path to escape the pantry stores. Geralt looks up at him questioningly and his brother rolls his eyes, “You’ve been brooding all day and the hall outside your room reeks of anger and guilt from your bard. What happened?”
> 
> Geralt sighs and looks away, glancing around the pantry as he thinks of what to say, “I fucked up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, y'all. Thanks so much for reading. This fic started out as just a silly little thing to break my writer's block and turned into a tear-jerking opus. Please enjoy the final chapter of The Devil Go With All.

Geralt never thought his heart could ache more than it did when he yearned for Jaskier’s presence during the years after the mountain and the months where they all thought his bard had been cursed into childhood. He didn’t think his chest could get any tighter or his breaths could come any shorter every time he dreamed of blue eyes or remembered the feeling of long fingers against his skin. How could there be anything worse than the consistent tugging in his ribs towards someone who had deliberately distanced themselves from him?

The first month of having Jaskier back proved him terribly wrong.

It’s a cruel sort of existence, to be filled with such joy and such grief simultaneously. Sometimes he wakes up feeling both, sometimes he wanders the days and will suddenly be crippled by one or the other. Sometimes a wholly different emotion will swoop in and capture his heart, most frequently being such strong relief at Jaskier’s safety that it brings him to his knees. And yet he feels almost selfish to be experiencing these things as he stays by his bard’s side, watching as blue eyes never focus on him as they converse.

The first three days spent in the infirmary after Jaskier’s rescue were the most difficult. Geralt remained nearby around the clock, a constant presence as Jaskier barely slept more than a half an hour at a time and frequently woke in a state of panic as his nose tells him he’s not in the tower anymore but his eyes betray him. It takes everything within Geralt to not break down as he helps Jaskier ease his rapid gasps and slow his thundering heart, the Witcher’s heart aching in sympathy. He has to learn to move slowly and deliberately loud, to give Jaskier some indication of his presence and position in the room at all times or else the bard becomes tense and his scarred hands will start to tremble.

When Geralt touched Jaskier lightly on the shoulder, being as tactile as they usually are with one another, Jaskier had gasped and flinched away so hard that some of his joints popped from the sudden movement. He had stammered out an apology before realizing that the bard probably couldn’t hear him over the pounding of his own heart, Geralt’s ears easily able to pick up the hammering behind Jaskier’s ribs. So he had sat down on the edge of the bed and gently touched Jaskier’s hand instead to try and ease the bard into his physical presence. Jaskier had jerked his hand away but, before Geralt could do more than feel a flash of hurt, he thrust his hand back out again as he reached for Geralt in the darkness.

It becomes Geralt’s way of letting Jaskier know he’s going to touch the bard without having to verbalize every single gesture. He makes his presence known by making a sound nearby and then touching Jaskier’s hand or wrist gently. Jaskier still flinches but it lessens over time and he always reaches back out to Geralt. Other than small things like this, Geralt foolishly thinks that Jaskier is recovering spectacularly. His bard is a little quieter than Geralt is used to, considering he has to focus more of his attention on his hearing now, but otherwise he’s still cracking jokes and smiling and Yennefer deemed him well enough to leave the infirmary after three days.

Geralt asked Jaskier where he would like to stay, offering up the options of his own room or to sleep with Geralt. Unsurprisingly, Jaskier chooses to stay with Geralt and late that night he quietly confessed to being afraid of being alone in case this was all just another illusion. Geralt’s heart ached yet again and he burned with the desire to have killed Stregobor instead of just turning the bastard in to the Brotherhood. Julian was upset with him for having a bedmate that wasn’t the child and despite Geralt reassuring the boy that Jaskier wouldn’t mind his presence, Julian had snapped at him and gone to sleep with Lambert after waking screaming from nightmares that aren’t even his own.

He desperately wants to ask Jaskier about it, about the things he’s learned from Julian’s time in the keep, but wisely keeps his queries to himself as Jaskier becomes more and more withdrawn and silent. Geralt is concerned but also unsure what to do so he continues on like nothing is wrong, keeping up their new routine of going for short walks around the keep to rebuild Jaskier’s strength and socializing with the others at mealtimes. Even so, Jaskier becomes more and more tense, like a wound spring that’s going to slip and uncoil explosively.

It all comes to a head three weeks after Jaskier’s rescue. The bard has been snippy and simmering with anger all morning and Geralt feels like he’s been walking on eggshells for days now, being careful of every word he says and taking extreme care to not spook Jaskier. His chosen approach has been to treat Jaskier like a skittish horse, not that he’d ever  _ tell _ the bard that, especially not with the way Jaskier’s been swinging wildly between spitting ire and devastated sorrow.

The Witcher has been trying to figure out a way to cheer up Jaskier for a while now, listing the various things they’ll do once Spring arrives and they venture back out on the Path. Jaskier’s been completely silent as he listens to Geralt, sitting across from him in front of the hearth in Geralt’s room, until the Witcher mentions performing at courts, to which the bard scoffs.

“Yeah, right. That’s hilarious, Geralt. It’s so funny I forgot to laugh.”

Geralt frowns in confusion, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, “I don’t-”

“It must have been a joke, even if it was a poor one,” Jaskier continues bitterly as though Geralt hadn’t spoken, “Come now, Geralt, you aren’t blind-” Geralt winces at Jaskier’s own choice of words, “-what fucking court is going to want this standing in front of them?” He gestures broadly to his scarred body, “Surely, you know by now that a bard is nothing without their looks? We’re little more than whores who can carry a tune to the majority of the Continent, dear Witcher. I’d be lucky to be allowed to play in taverns come Spring.”

“Jaskier…” Geralt swallows, considering his words carefully, “You must know that your scars don’t make you any less of a bard. They don’t even look that bad, but if it bothers you that much we can go to Novigrad to get a salve that fades scarring-”

“Enough!” Jaskier snaps suddenly, his face twisted into an angry scowl, “Just stop it, Geralt, I can’t stand it anymore!”

“Stop what, Jask, I don’t understand?” Geralt frowns deeply, icy concern flooding him as the bard’s cheeks flush with fury and make the white scars stand out more starkly.

“Stop saying we’re going to be traveling together! Are you thick or just fucking stupid? I’ve always been a liability to you but now I’m a damned death warrant. A Witcher traveling with a blind bard who won’t even be able to earn them any coin? Can’t avoid the danger that you don’t protect me from? D’you know how many times I had to evade capture or kidnapping because people wanted to get to you through me? And the one time I do get caught, I lose the first line of defense against those horrid people!”

“Jaskier…” Geralt weakly protests but Jaskier isn’t done yet.

“And don’t you say you can take me on hunts with you, we both know that’s not true. You barely tolerated it when I snuck out and followed you to them since I was able to see if the fucking monster was about to gobble my face off. Now I’d be a constant distraction at best and your cause of death at worst.”

“That’s not- we could-”

“We could  _ what _ , Geralt? Figure it out? Like we figure everything out? Oh, yeah, because that works so well when you won’t even show me a modicum of respect!” He laughs humorlessly as he stands up restlessly, smelling strongly of shame and hurt on top of his anger, “You’ve been treating me like I’m made of fucking glass for  _ weeks _ now, Geralt! I keep trying to adapt and move past this-this  _ thing _ but every time I speak with you I’m reminded that I’m a useless fucking cripple! That I’m this-this-this horrible, disfigured shade of a bard!”

“The scars aren’t even that-”

“I DON’T FUCKING CARE ABOUT THE GODSDAMNED SCARS!” Jaskier shouts. The fire flares in the hearth and a crack audibly rips through the stone beneath his feet. Geralt tries to reach out to him but when his fingers graze Jaskier’s wrist the bard yanks his hand away, knocking over a vial of his perfume that Ciri had brought to him, the glass shattering on the floor, “Don’t  _ fucking _ touch me right now, Geralt, or I swear to all the gods! Just get out! I know this is your fucking room and this isn’t fair of me but if I could storm off without running face first into a wall I fucking would so just get out!”

Geralt quickly stands up and moves towards the door but he hesitates with an uneasy frown as he looks at Jaskier, “Jask, I-”

“Go away! Leave me the fuck alone!” Geralt has to duck as Jaskier throws another vial of perfume with surprising accuracy, the glass exploding against the wall right where his head had been and staining the stone with the scent of oranges.

Geralt scurries out of the room, desperately putting space between himself and Jaskier before he can garner even more of his bard’s ire, and he spends the rest of the day sulking around the keep. He sends Julian to take Jaskier his lunch but otherwise avoids the room and all talk of Jaskier like the plague until Eskel corners him in the kitchen after dinner where Geralt had been hunting for something sweet.

“So, what’s going on?” Eskel asks bluntly as he crosses his arms and blocks Geralt’s path to escape the pantry stores. Geralt looks up at him questioningly and his brother rolls his eyes, “You’ve been brooding all day and the hall outside your room reeks of anger and guilt from your bard. What happened?”

Geralt sighs and looks away, glancing around the pantry as he thinks of what to say, “I fucked up.”

“No shit, idiot,” Eskel says immediately, “How did you fuck up, though, is the important question?”

He rubs the back of his neck as he places his other hand on his hip, still avoiding Eskel’s keen eyes, “He’s been… off. Quiet. Angry a lot. I was trying to make him feel better by telling him stuff we’d do once on the Path again. He said something about not being able to be hired since he’s got all those scars now so I suggested we go to Novigrad to get a salve that would make them fade and then he just… snapped.”

His brother has a pinched expression on his face, pulling his own scars tight and making the skin around them lighten, “Geralt, have you been telling Jaskier all the ways things will go back to normal?”

“I… yeah, I guess so. I figured that’s what he wants. Isn’t it?”

Eskel squints at him for a long few moments before slowly saying, “Imagine Roach died. You grieve and get a new Roach and this new Roach isn’t the same because she’s a different horse, different mannerisms and color and personality. And when you next see Jaskier he just talks about Roach like she’s the same as the first Roach, pretending like nothing has changed. How would that make you feel?”

Geralt frowns and looks down at Eskel’s boots as he thinks, “I… I’d be upset. It’d feel disrespectful to the new Roach.” He thinks about how Jaskier accused him of not treating the bard with respect and his heart sinks, “That’s how I’ve been making Jaskier feel.”

“Mhm,” his brother nods sagely before giving Geralt a sharp look, “He doesn’t want you telling him things will be the same as they were before he lost his sight and got his scars, he wants you to reassure him that, even though things are different now, he’s not alone.” Eskel sighs softly and looks away as he shoves his hands in his pockets, saying quietly, “He’s terrified, Geralt. He can’t  _ see _ anymore. I can’t imagine how fucking scared I’d be if I couldn’t see anything anymore. Your bard’s strong, stronger than most people I’d reckon, but he’s still human and he needs to not be alone. He needs you.”

Geralt inhales deeply as he meets Eskel’s eyes and nods, letting out his breath slowly and feeling the tension seep out of his shoulders. He thinks he understands so he thanks his brother before leaving the pantry and heading towards his bedroom. He’s sure that Jaskier understands that Geralt was just trying to help, even if his words weren’t hitting home and were just making Jaskier feel worse. But he still owes his bard an apology and maybe he can make it up to Jaskier with…

He stops dead in his tracks as he realizes that he hasn’t kissed Jaskier since finding the bard Stregobor’s tower, and his only touches have been light ones to Jaskier’s shoulders and arms. He’s held Jaskier in their sleep but other than that he’s been neglecting his bard’s need for physical touch and gods if that doesn’t make him feel shitty. Just because Jaskier flinches and startles from sudden contact doesn’t mean he suddenly doesn’t want to be embraced or held or kissed. Jaskier was- _ is _ an extremely tactile man.

With guilt sitting leaden in his gut, Geralt finishes the trek back to his bedroom and takes a deep breath outside the closed door, wincing at the sharp, acrid scent of anger and the heavier, mildew-like smell of guilt that lingers in the hall through the door. Jaskier’s not faring much better than himself it seems and he swallows thickly before knocking firmly on the door. He hears Jaskier startle inside, the bard’s boots scuffing against the ground as he jumps in surprise and his heartbeat spiking briefly before he clears his throat and says hoarsely, “Come in.”

Geralt opens the door slowly and steps into the room so that his boots thump against the stone floor audibly, “Jaskier, can we talk?”

Jaskier sighs and tilts his head down like he’s looking at his knees as he sits on his hands in the armchair he was sitting in earlier when they argued and he nods, “That’s probably a good idea.” His voice sounds scratchy and under the strong smells of his emotions, Geralt can scent the salt of tears that have long since dried on Jaskier’s skin.

The Witcher delicately makes his way over to the other armchair and sits down, noting that the glass from the shattered vials has been cleaned up, “Did you clean up the glass?” He looks at how Jaskier is sitting on his hands and is suddenly struck with worry that the bard cut himself and is hiding it.

Jaskier shakes his head and sits back in the chair, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, “No, Julian did when he brought me my lunch.” His bard smiles slightly and looks towards Geralt, his eyes gazing just over the Witcher’s right shoulder, “We’re starting to hit it off, I think. Or at least he doesn’t seem to despise me quite so much, so that’s progress, I suppose.”

Geralt nods before remembering with a spike of guilt that Jaskier can’t see his expressions or movements, “That’s good, I’m glad you’re getting along.” Jaskier hums softly in agreement before turning his face towards the heat of the fire that someone must have stoked for him to keep the room warm. “Jask, I… I wanted to apologize. I’m sorry for the way I’ve been treating you. I didn’t realize… I thought I was helping, which isn’t an excuse, I know. I’m just so sorry for hurting you.”

Jaskier is quiet as he listens to Geralt’s apology and then for a few minutes after it, during which they sit in silence except for the crackling of the burning wood. Finally, the corners of his lips tug upwards ruefully and he sighs, “I’m sorry, too. I should have been communicating with you instead of wallowing in self-pity and then lashing out at you when you aren’t doing what I want. You’re not a mind-reader and I shouldn’t have expected you to be.”

Geralt’s shoulders relax and he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding as he smiles easily, “So, are we okay? I forgive you, by the way. You’re going through a difficult time and adjusting to a new reality, I don’t blame you for being a little more emotionally volatile than usual.”

“Than usual?” Jaskier’s smile grows as he feigns offense, “How dare you, Witcher! I’ve never once been emotionally volatile. I have done nothing wrong, ever in my life.”

Geralt chuckles and slips off his chair to kneel at Jaskier’s feet, gently touching the bard’s wrist to slip his hand into Jaskier’s cool one, “I know this and I love you.”

“I suppose I can forgive you, then,” he heaves a long-suffering sigh and lowers his feet to the floor again as he laces their fingers together, “I don’t like being mad at you anyway. I’m sorry I threw those perfumes at you, I didn’t realize just how angry I was until I’d already done it.”

“It’s okay,” Geralt presses his lips to the back of Jaskier’s hand and watches as his bard’s cheeks turn pink beneath those white scars, “You were upset, I understand.” He brushes his lips up Jaskier’s arm, enjoying the feeling of the bard’s soft chemise against his mouth, “it doesn’t even smell like them anymore in here.”

Jaskier’s face is steadily growing more flushed and the intoxicating scent of his bard’s arousal is starting to drift off of his skin, “I ah… asked Yennefer to magic it away. Didn’t want to upset your delicate sensibilities.” The bard’s unoccupied hand seeks out Geralt’s shoulder and his fingers follow it until he’s gently caressing the Witcher’s cheek, smoothing his thumb over Geralt’s cheekbone.

“How considerate,” Geralt murmurs and Jaskier jolts slightly as he feels the Witcher’s breath against his face, his heart rabbiting in his chest. “May I?”

“Yes, please,” Jaskier breathes and his unseeing eyes slip shut as Geralt presses their lips together, the bard sliding out of his chair to straddle Geralt’s knees and wrap his arm around the Witcher’s shoulders while still holding Geralt’s hand tightly in his own. Geralt brings his own arm around Jaskier’s waist in a tight embrace that he doesn’t intend to release anytime soon.

Things start to improve from there. Geralt was correct in his assumption that Jaskier was missing and craving physical connection since the bard seems to be in a much better mood than he was faring from before. Also in part because Geralt makes an effort to not undermine Jaskier’s new way of living, reminding him that there have been blind bards and Witchers who have succeeded in their lives or telling him that his music is good enough that he’ll be hired regardless of his scars. These reassurances ease Jaskier’s frazzled nerves after the bard wakes up in a panic five times every night, which eventually eases to three times, until Jaskier is able to sleep almost the full night through. 

Once Jaskier is strong enough to walk around the keep with Geralt acting only as a guide and not a crutch in addition to almost complete nights of sleep, Yennefer deems him well enough to discuss the matter of Julian and the missing part of Jaskier’s mind. Geralt mostly sits back and lets them talk it out, remaining nearby for moral support since he knows things of a magical nature unsettle Jaskier, especially now that he has magic of his own that he doesn’t know how to control. Jaskier firmly believes that Yennefer should talk to Julian about this decision, whether to return the piece of Jaskier’s mind or not, for it’s as much Julian’s as it is his.

Yennefer agrees and seeks Julian out that same day, and she must have explained everything to the boy because after dinner he comes up to Jaskier and lightly taps the bard’s hip to get his attention, “Jaskier? Can I talk to you?” Geralt watches as Jaskier shifts his attention downwards, having gotten quite good at estimating where someone is based on their voice.

“Sure, sweetheart. Do you want Geralt coming or is this a private conversation?” Jaskier asks as Julian slides his small hand into the bard’s larger one. 

Julian shakes his head and looks at Geralt apologetically, “Private. Sorry, Geralt.”

“That’s alright,” he smiles at the siren child, “don’t go too far. Don’t want you getting Jaskier lost.” Jaskier makes a noise of indignation that’s mostly for show since it gets Julian to giggle and the sound makes Jaskier smile as he’s guided out of the Great Hall. Geralt doesn’t see Jaskier again until he retires to bed, finding his bard sitting curled up by the fire in his bedclothes and wrapped in a blanket.

Geralt grunts as he enters the room to announce his presence and Jaskier dutifully tilts his head back for a kiss, only flinching a little when their lips make contact. “What did Julian want to talk to you about?” Geralt asks curiously when he pulls away to get changed into his own bedclothes.

Jaskier tilts his head slightly to indicate that he’s listening to Geralt even as he doesn’t turn away from the fire, pulling the blanket tighter around him and shivering slightly, “He wanted to discuss what Yennefer told him, about the spell and us.”

“And?” The Witcher prompts, still not used to Jaskier’s lack of rambling these days. It happens every now and then, usually when the bard is feeling most relaxed and content and Geralt has started using it as a guide for Jaskier’s healing.

“He said he’ll be very sad to forget everyone but he wants to give Julian back to me,” Jaskier says softly, his voice even and carefully neutral, “He’d rather not have the memories of my family and wants to make new ones with all of us instead. I don’t blame him, if I could get rid of the scars my parents have left upon my mind I would.”

Geralt hums and walks over, brushing his fingers against Jaskier’s arm before resting his hand on the bard’s shoulder, “Is that what you want? You know what Yen said, you’ll get that piece back but it won’t fit perfectly. It’ll have… side effects.”

“I remember,” Jaskier nods and sighs, turning his head to rest it against Geralt’s forearm, “possible hallucinations, paranoia, increased anxiety. Things I’m already dealing with, dear heart. I can handle the side effects if it means I won’t feel like something is… is  _ missing _ anymore.” He had described it as seeing those years of his childhood through the surface of a pond, the memories wavering and blurred and slipping away from him like sand through his fingers.

Geralt sighs and runs his fingers through Jaskier’s soft hair, gently scratching his bard’s scalp to soothe the man, “Are you cold?”

“A bit.”

He hums and sits down on the bearskin rug in front of the hearth, guiding Jaskier to sit between his legs and lean back against his chest and allowing Geralt to wrap his arms around the bard’s waist and tuck the blanket more securely around the thin man. He’s been steadily gaining back the weight he lost but he’s still too thin for Geralt’s comfort, his ribs still faintly visible beneath his skin and his fingers and hands still knobbly. The lack of mass makes Jaskier get cold even easier than he used to, which was already a feat and Geralt enjoyed teasing the bard by saying he’s a cold-blooded reptile. 

Geralt rubs his thumb against Jaskier’s hip as they sit silently together in front of the popping wood of the fire. The bard still carries some tension in his shoulders, like he wants to say something more, so Geralt presses his nose to Jaskier’s hair and breathes in the familiar scent of oak and chamomile. “Is there something else, bard?”

Jaskier remains quiet for a while longer before he hums out a sigh, “Yennefer has figured out some of what the experiments Stregobor was doing were.” Geralt’s blood runs cold and his arms tighten to pull Jaskier more firmly against him and the bard tilts his head back to rest it against Geralt’s shoulder.

“Do you want to tell me?”

The bard shakes his head and closes his eyes, “Not all of it.”

Geralt glances at him out of the side of his eye, “But some of it?”

“Hmm, yes, I suppose it would be a good idea.” Jaskier takes a few moments to collect himself and Geralt allows the bard this time as he noses at the exposed column of Jaskier’s throat until he feels Jaskier’s Adam's apple bob. “Yennefer had the idea… to return my sight, you see. Of taking me to Ban Ard so I could be trained and then go through the process of ‘ascension’, being made perfect.”

Geralt frowns and pulls his head back to look at the bard. Jaskier’s eyes are still closed but his face is tight with tension. “And you… don’t want to do this?”

“I’m not sure. I think the training would be beneficial.”

“But not the ascension?”

Jaskier smiles bitterly and opens his blank eyes, tilting his head towards Geralt’s face, “Now, therein lies the problem. The reason Yennefer can’t get rid of my scars is because I’ve already ascended.” Geralt freezes as he stares at Jaskier in disbelief. “Stregobor put me through a bastardized version of the process which is what inflicted the scars and stole my sight. I was already going to live a long time due to my ancestry, and I was fully aware of there being fae somewhere in my lineage but it wasn’t any immediate family so I never thought it would be anything more than an extended life expectancy. But now I have this twisted connection to chaos and I can feel it buzzing around inside me like a glow fly trapped in a glass jar and on top of that I won’t die. Not that I want to, by any means, but now there is no end in sight unless I’m cut down by external forces or by my own hand.”

Geralt feels like he’s been dunked into a frozen lake and he can’t find the hole in the ice he fell through, “Jaskier I… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Jaskier sighs and waves his hand dismissively, “Just… it’s just unfortunate. Can’t double-ascend after all. I guess you’re really stuck with me now.”

A fierce feeling of protectiveness rushes through Geralt and he curls around Jaskier a bit more, “Not stuck, never stuck.” Jaskier smiles softly and raises his hand to tangle his fingers in Geralt’s long hair, relaxing against the Witcher and closing his eyes again as he presses his lips against Geralt’s temple.

Two days later, Geralt finds himself in Yennefer’s laboratory along with Jaskier and Julian. After giving his answer to the sorceress, Julian had wanted to say goodbye to everyone and leave them all little tokens that he had collected over his time in the keep. Surprisingly, Lambert was the one to burst into tears when Julian handed him the crudely carved wolf medallion the boy had made and the young Witcher swept the boy up into a tight hug that he didn’t end until Julian was complaining of his toes falling asleep. Now he’s sitting on a cot that’s placed next to the one Jaskier is sitting cross-legged on, calmly listening to the boy prattle on about the different kinds of bugs he’s seen in the keep while Yennefer readies her ingredients for the spell.

“Jaskier,” Julian says suddenly, glancing nervously at Yennefer and then around the laboratory. He waits until Jaskier hums his confirmation of attention before speaking again, “I know I didn’t have as much time with you as I did everybody else, but I wanted to give you this. I think it’s yours anyway.” 

Jaskier raises his eyebrows with a curious smile as Julian gets down off of the cot and walks over, patting Jaskier’s hand to make him turn it over with an open palm. Julian then withdraws the old, stuffed cat from his doublet and sets it gently in Jaskier’s hand. The bard’s breath hitches slightly and he uses his other hand to feel the cat over, his fingers trailing along the thin fabric and fraying seams, feeling the bald spots where fur used to be sewn onto the toy and the J embroidered on the cat’s ear.

“Is this Gregory?” Jaskier asks softly, an expression of awe on his face. Julian makes a noise of confirmation and a soft, wounded sound comes from Jaskier’s throat as he continues to run his fingers over the toy, “I haven’t held him in decades. Wherever did you find him?”

“I always had him,” Julian climbs back up onto his cot and swings his feet as he looks at Jaskier, “But Yenna thinks that mage took him from your house. All the magic is stuck to him. ‘Cause he’s an ‘emotional answer’.”

“Anchor,” Yennefer corrects absently.

“Yeah, that.”

Jaskier takes a shaking breath and is blinking back tears so Geralt moves closer and gently rests his hand on the bard’s shoulder to offer him support. “I… thank you, Julian. This means a lot to me.”

“I know. I can see you trying not to cry,” the boy says bluntly and it shocks Jaskier into a startled laugh. “Yenna, Gregory will be okay after you do your magic, right?”

Yennefer glances over with a soft expression and nods, “The cat will survive, yes. Now please lie down, the both of you.”

As the bard and boy both shift to lie down on their cots, Julian smiles and nods, “Good, I’d hate to have given Jaskier a gift and it got taken away.” All of a sudden it clicks for Geralt. He had wondered, back at the beginning of his acquaintance with the boy, how a child like Julian could grow up to become Jaskier. But he had it all wrong. He was focussing on how Julian was timid and shy and scared of everyone and everything, how the child lashed out when frightened or went nonverbal from time to time as a way to avoid saying something that could be cause for punishment. Geralt was so focussed on how Julian was different from Jaskier that he completely missed the ways that they’re similar.

He can see exactly how Julian became Jaskier in the way the boy played games with Ciri, the two of them creating entire worlds and stories out of the things they could find around the keep. He can see it in the way Julian fearlessly climbed all over Lambert, who is arguably the most volatile of them from his anger alone, and tamed the youngest wolf. He can see it in the way Julian eventually got over his mistrust of Eskel and befriended him, frequently crafting clumsy flower crowns that graced Eskel’s dark hair whenever a new one was gifted to him. He can see it in the way that Julian gives Jaskier a stuffed cat that’s arguably the most important thing to a young child, to  _ Julian _ as he is now and to Jaskier from when he was once known as Julian. Geralt can’t believe he didn’t see it before, just because some of Jaskier’s louder traits were toned down from a lifetime of abuse at the hands of the people he trusted the most. And even though they don’t share many physical similarities anymore, not since that glamour broke, it’s impossible to not see Julian in Jaskier and Jaskier in Julian, they’re the same person after all.

“Ready?” Yennefer walks over to them and Julian takes a deep breath, nervously glancing at the three adults.

“Will it hurt?”

Yennefer smiles softly as she taps Jaskier’s forehead, putting him to sleep and then turning to the boy, “Not at all, little one.”

And then Julian is laid to rest.

* * *

The sun shines brightly down overhead, warming the earth beneath their feet and bringing a rosiness to Jaskier’s cheeks as they walk hand-in-hand across the emerald lawn that decorates the courtyard of Ban Ard. Birds twitter and sing in the trees that they travel beneath when they exit the front gates and mount Roach, his bard sitting behind him with an arm wrapped snugly around his middle. The hollow sound of Jaskier’s lute bumping against his hip as Roach walks along the trodden road towards Aretuza is a familiar and welcome sound, only improved by the gentle humming that starts up after they both thoroughly appreciate their own silence and the ambience of the woods. 

Jaskier hooks his chin over Geralt’s shoulder and closes his eyes, enjoying the sunlight that filters through the branches and dapples his face as he sings softly, crooning a song about lovers at Midsummer into Geralt’s ear. The Witcher smiles contentedly as he looks over at Jaskier, not a trace of tension on his lover’s face at this moment. It’s not often that Jaskier is completely relaxed like this, between the way his mind splinters sometimes and the general stresses of life, so it’s nice to see him so carefree. It only takes a few hours before they’re drawing close to their destination, a single small house on a hill surrounded by a white picket fence and copses of evergreens that’s halfway between Aretuza and Ban Ard. Already there’s a bay mare turned out to pasture just outside the fencing and Geralt smiles at the sight of it.

As they get near to the top of the hill there’s an excited shriek from inside the house and the front door flies open. A young boy of ten, with tawny hair and green eyes, races through it and vaults the picket fence to sprint down the hill towards them. Jaskier sits up straighter behind Geralt as he hears the approaching footsteps and the Witcher brings Roach to a halt as they wait for the boy to reach them.

“Geralt! Jaskier! You’re here!” He cries out and trips over a hidden root, landing face first with a soft grunt before jumping back up again with just as much excitement as before.

“We told you we would be,” Jaskier grins, turning his face towards the boy, “And here we are, Tómas.”

“I know!” Tómas reaches up for Roaches reins and Geralt relinquishes them with little hesitation, “But you’re late! Mum said you’d get here yesterday! The ceremony is tonight!”

“Yeah, well you can blame Master Jaskier for that,” Geralt teases and Jaskier pokes him in the side as he sticks his tongue out childishly, “Couldn’t resist playing for your classmates, huh?”

“A private concert was requested, my dear Witcher. Who am I to deny my fellow students their deepest desires?”

“Their deepest desires? I dunno about that, maybe their most desired background sound to get drunk to as they celebrate the end of the semester,” the Witcher grunts but grins as Jaskier thumps him on the back as his bard rolls his eyes.

“Insufferable,” Jaskier sighs in exasperation before turning his face towards Tómas again and whispering conspiratorially, “Remind me why I put up with him?”

Tómas looks delighted as he stage-whispers back, “Because you love him.”

“Hm, I guess that’s as good a reason as any.”

Geralt’s the one to roll his eyes this time as he shakes his head, “Oh fuck off, Jask.”

“Not until dear Tómas has guided us safely to his darling home, you know the rules, Geralt,” Jaskier laughs and once the boy has led Roach to the fence he carefully slides off of her back and steps out of the way for Geralt to dismount.

“You got her handled?” Geralt asks Tómas, who salutes at him and marches off with Roach to untack her and brush the mare down before turning her out to pasture as well. The front door of the house opens again and Yennefer emerges with a rag in hand as she wipes her fingers clean, Ciri following close behind. A cat medallion gleams atop Ciri’s tunic, her swords left inside the house most likely in favor of greeting the family.

“It’s about time you got here,” Yennefer drawls, tucking the rag into a pocket of her apron and Geralt catches the scent of wolfsbane on it, “I was starting to wonder if you’d gotten lost.”

Geralt pulls her into a warm embrace as Ciri simultaneously hugs Jaskier, touching his shoulder first to alert him to her physical presence. “Jaskier was tempted into performing for his fellow students, had to stay so he could serenade them.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Ciri teases and Jaskier pats the top of her head with a laugh.

“It seems you’ve finally stopped growing, cub. You were giving me a scare for a while there! I could have sworn I was over a foot taller and now you’re all the way up to my nose!” 

“Shame, I was certain I’d be taller than all of you losers.”

“Quit hogging the bard, Cirilla,” Yennefer admonishes as she shoos Ciri away to pull Jaskier into her arms, “I haven’t seen him all year either.”

“That’s hardly my fault, is it! I’m not allowed to leave the grounds during semester, but you can waltz right on over whenever you’d like,” Jaskier hugs her back with a bright laugh.

Ciri walks over to Geralt and gives him a tight hug, tucking her head under his chin like she always does, “How are you, dad?”

Geralt softens, his heart melting for his Child Surprise every time she calls him that without fail, and he rubs her back as he thinks about his answer, “I’m… good. I’m really good. How are you?”

“Better now that you two have arrived. It’d be a bit awkward to have the ceremony without the guests of honor,” she teases and he pinches her cheek in recompense, “Oh hush, you know I’m right. Besides, it’s just us right now. Yennefer and I will portal in your brothers later.” Geralt glances over at the sorceress and his bard who are chattering animatedly with each other, catching up on court gossip and other inane topics. “Are you nervous?”

He looks down at her for a moment before turning his gaze on Jaskier and shaking his head, “Nope. I’m scared shitless.” Jaskier seems to sense that he’s being watched and both Ciri and Geralt’s medallions hum as the bard uses a small amount of magic to figure out who’s looking at him. He smiles back at Geralt and Yennefer pretends to gag before shoving Jaskier off balance and making him laugh.

“Well it’s a good thing you’ve got a brave man to lean on,” Ciri teases and Geralt’s smile softens.

“I do, don’t I?”

His Child Surprise wrinkles her nose good-naturedly, “Ew, gross, cut that sappy shit out.”

He laughs and ruffles her hair before crossing his arms, “You started it.”

“What are you, twelve?” Ciri shakes her head and glances over at Jaskier and Yennefer before lowering her voice, “Have you seen any signs of her?”

Geralt’s smile fades as he sighs and runs a hand over his hand, shaking his head. The ‘her’ in question being the mage who was working with Stregobor to capture Jaskier and experiment on him. The former court mage of Lettenhove. Geralt’s been trying to track her down since the first Spring he and Jaskier took to the Path again three years ago, it makes him uneasy for her to be out there and no one apparently knows who she is. He felt a little comforted by the fact that Jaskier spent the last year in Ban Ard, surrounded by sorcerers who could protect him from Emilia Ralt if she decided to try to collect or follow through on Stregobor’s experiments.

“Don’t worry, dad, I’m sure you’ll find her,” Ciri lays a hand on his arm, “For now, though, you need a bath. Phew! My nose can’t tell where Roach ends and you start.” He rolls his eyes with a grumble but follows her inside to the bath, rather pleased to be getting one so quickly after their arrival.

As the sun sets and casts brilliant beams of color across the atmosphere, wispy pink and orange clouds drifting across the bruised sky, and the first stars start to appear amongst the heavens, the Wolves of Kaer Morhen find themselves standing on a hill out back of a small house surrounded by a white picket fence, a bay mare and a chestnut mare turned out to pasture nearby. Newly bathed and smelling fresh as a daisy, Geralt stands across from Jaskier, the light from the setting sun making his sun-kissed skin look like it’s been touched by King Midas himself. 

The bright blue of his eyes stands out starkly against his dark hair and the soft white of his doublet and he looks like he’s looking directly into Geralt’s eyes as his hand clasps the red fabric of Geralt’s tunic on his forearm. Geralt’s heart beats almost as fast as a human’s and Jaskier’s heart is pounding in his chest as he feels Geralt wrap his fingers around the bard’s forearm. Whether it’s excitement or nerves, Geralt doesn’t know and he can’t tell based only on the tender smile pulling the corners of Jaskier’s lips up.

Yennefer says a few words, and if asked later Geralt can’t recall what they are for the life of him, before she pulls a golden ribbon out of thin air and winds it around their clasped arms. His focus is completely on the man in front of him, whose blue eyes are unseeing and scars like white lightning adorn his skin, as they stand before their friends and family. Proclaiming their love in front of Eskel and Lambert, Vesemir and Ciri, Aiden and Coën, Triss Merigold and a woman Jaskier knows from Oxenfurt named Essi Daven. Bound together by choice and a golden ribbon in the fading light of the day on Midsummer’s Eve.

Tómas sits off to the side on the picket fence, not all that interested in handfasting ceremonies at ten years old, as he quietly sings a nursery rhyme to himself that he doesn’t remember where he learned, “ _ Tom a lin and his wife and his wife’s mother, / They all went over the bridge together; / The bridge was broken and they fell in, / ‘The devil go with all,’ quoth Tom a lin _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not give permission for my work to be shared or reposted to any other website other than as a weblink to this Archive of Our Own URL with credit given to me.

**Author's Note:**

> Please check out [Into the Jaskierverse](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1895545), a collaboration between myself and a bunch of other authors, for more Devil Go With All content!
> 
> Or, find me at [@buffskierights](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/buffskierights) on tumblr.


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